Paying the Price
by Crazy Girl Person
Summary: Trauma Center: UtK In the aftermath of the GUILT outbreak, Dr. Derek Stiles finds himself haunted by disturbing images and uncertain of the path ahead.
1. Premonition

ATTENTION!: This story is based solely on the DS version of Trauma Center. I haven't gotten a chance to play the Wii one all the way through so if there have been any significant changes to the ending, please disregard them.

Paying the Price

A Trauma Center: Under the Knife Fanfiction

"Vitals dropping!"

Derek hated to admit it, but he was almost getting used to hearing that phrase. Normally it would not perturb him too much. The patient's vitals dropping was never a good thing, but whenever his assistant would call out that warning he had always felt an inferno ignite from inside. He met every surgery he preformed with unparalleled determination. No matter who his patient was, he would save his or her life, and he would let nothing get in his way.

He met his current operation with the same resolve as he had in the past, but things were not going well. No matter how many lacerations he sutured, how much stabilizer he injected, or how much he burned at the cursed parasite with the laser, Savato took everything he dished out and returned it three folds. He could barely keep up, but it was too early to use the Healing Touch. He had to wait until it was cornered and desperate before hitting it with everything he had. _I know I can hold out._ Derek's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as sutured another laceration with blinding speed. _I just hope she can . ._

"_No matter how much you try, you cannot overcome the power of death."_

Derek shuddered at the cold voice as it slithered through his mind. He forced his hands to steady, even as his shoulders continued to shiver with the chill that descended upon him. "Shut up, Adam." Derek growled. "I'm tired of your 'judgment'! You are in no position to decide who lives and dies, and you never were." He zapped at the demonic spider as he smeared antibiotic gel on yet another laceration with his free hand. He then reached for the stitches and began suturing while his right hand continued focusing the laser on Savato. He may have even been surprised by his dexterity had his task not demanded so much attention. "C'mon, just a little more."

Savato's shield finally gave under the constant application of the laser and Derek did not miss a beat. Before he even knew it, the scalpel was in his hand and slicing down the parasite's back. He quickly grabbed the syringe, which was conveniently filled with Dr. Niguel's custom made serum, and all but stabbed it into the bug's gaping wound. With the quick injection, Savato twitched in agony before making a hasty retreat towards the center of the patient's heart. _This is it!_

Derek stood by with his suturing tool in hand as Savato made nine devastating lacerations across the organ. Teeth gritted behind his surgical mask, Derek focused intently on the star shape in his mind. With the flash of the star, his world became monochromatic and everyone around him slowed. His head spun slightly from the effort, but his hands were already at work suturing the lacerations. _Just one more._ Savato made it apparent that it was not going down without one last hurrah. For each laceration that Derek sutured, the parasite made three more and if the surgeon did not know any better, he would have sworn the GUILT was grinning menacingly. _Enjoy it while you can, you little bastard!_

The cloud in his mind cleared and Derek braced himself for another Healing Touch. His body was still getting used to his powers, even after using them multiple times. Using them back to back like this was not exactly the best idea but Derek was determined to under go the strain as necessary. Besides, he saw little room to complain considering the trauma his patients would often go through. _For her._ _One more time._

The outline of a star once again traced the paths he had carved in his mind. His body trembled from the effort, but his mind was as grounded as steel. The world around him froze as his focus increased to inconceivable levels. Finally, Savato was at his mercy. There was not a hint of remorse as Derek injected one last lethal dose and allowed himself a satisfied smirk as the disease succumb to a dying tremor. His world abruptly returned to color and motion as Savato was eradicated. Derek took in a large, relieved sigh. "She's going to make it."

"Doctor!"

The nurse's abrupt cry rang out in unison with the heart monitor's screech. The patient was flat lining and it only took Derek a quick glance to see why. Her heart was dissolving. "No! How is this happening?" Derek pleaded out loud. "Wha -? What!?" He froze and slowly lifted his hand, feeling a thick and sticky substance drip from his fingertips. He expected to see dark rivers of blood trailing down them, but instead watched as black tar continued to flow almost endlessly from his hands. He watched through wide eyes as the fluid hissed upon contact with the patient's body and began dissolving her organs to oblivion. "What the hell is this!?"

Derek looked down at his trembling hands, unable to determine where the dark liquid was coming from or how to stop it. As it ran down his hand and snaked onto his bare forearm, he felt his entire body shudder with the sheer coldness it caressed his skin with. It did not burn him, as it had the patient, but as it continued to slide down his form it immediately ate away at the tiled floor. Perplexed beyond reason, Derek took a few slow and shaky steps back before feeling his back collide with another form. Startled, he whipped around and found himself trapped by Dr. Hoffman's disapproving glare. "Dr. Stiles, what have you done?"

"I . . I didn't . . .I don't . ." Derek stuttered as he slowly backpedaled. Dr. Hoffman stepped forward, his narrowed eyes still locked with those of the surgeon. "You killed her." His voice was cold, almost demonic. "I didn't kill her!" Derek pleaded. "I'd never . . .I don't . ."

_"People strive toward death... Only a fool could deny that."_

"No!" Derek pressed his hands against his ears, desperate to drown out Adam's cursed voice by any means necessary. He closed his eyes tightly as his hands continued to bleed out the dark substance, causing it to soak his hair and his body to shiver horribly in response. In spite of his efforts, he found himself unable to block out the voices. Dr. Hoffman's accusations merged with Adam's deathly mantra to the point where their words became nearly unintelligible. Not that it mattered, for their sinister whispers were all it took for Derek to collapse to his knees with his fingers still digging into the sides of his head.

He remained there for several minutes, the voices and cold descending upon him without mercy, when his eyes shot open in surprise. The frigid caress of the black fluid had given an abrupt change to warmth. Derek slowly peeled his right hand back from his face, perplexed, but no sooner had he done so did he feel his stomach turn. He was covered in blood. It caked over his body and caused his hair and clothes to cling, like sins, to his flesh. He felt a large puddle of it collecting around him and his eyes could not help but to be drawn towards his bloody reflection.

Derek was entrapped by his own image. His skin had turned several shades pale and he looked fresh from a slaughter house. "This is her blood, Stiles." He stiffened at Dr. Hoffman's voice but found himself unable to tear his eyes away from his ghastly image. "Her blood is on your head. You've killed her, Derek."

"No, I wanted . .to save her. . ."

"You've killed her, Derek. You've killed Angie Thompson."

"No!"

Cold sweat cascaded down Derek's forehead as he jerked awake. Taking in several gasps, he quickly took in his surroundings. Instant relief washed over him when he found himself in the bedroom of his apartment, his sheets entangled around his body no doubt do to his restless thrashing. He sat up and placed a hand to his forehead, brushing his wet bangs from his eyes. "God, that dream again." Derek's erratic breath and heartbeat immediately began to calm, but his mind was still shaking. When he first had the nightmare, shortly after eradicating the final traces of GUILT, he had chalked it up to stress. He had it again when he and Angie were in Brussels to help out Caduceus's European counterpart with another disease, but figured his subconscious was still recovering. Now they both had returned to the states and it was coming up on two months, and he wasn't sure what the dreams meant anymore, or if they even meant anything.

Derek groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why can't I just dream about Scarlett Johansson like Tyler does?"

-----

To be continued . . .and stuff.

All Trauma Center: UTK characters are copyright of Atlus.

When Derek first realized his power, Dr. Hoffman warned him that the Healing Touch would cost him his happiness. The hands of a doctor are heavy, he had said.

Ultimately, Stiles had to pay a price when he accepted the Healing Touch, and this is part of it. Not just the nightmares, but what is to follow.

I'm planning on turning this into a little mini series, sort of a foreshadowing conclusion to the events of Under the Knife. Be warned, though. This story will have an **abrupt** ending. It's really meant to show that Derek's troubles are just beginning. After all, that is the price a hero must pay.

Please let me know what you think.


	2. Messenger

Paying the Price

A Trauma Center: Under the Knife Fanfiction

Capitulo Dos

Angie quickly munched down the last of her breakfast before rushing towards the bathroom. She was running a bit late that morning and knew that if she was not ready by the time Derek got there, she would be hearing it for the rest of the day. It was only fair, she supposed as she squeezed a dollop of tooth paste onto her brush. She had been on his case in the past, but only because he was a slack off when they first met. She seldom had to worry about that now, but on the rare occasion he would start to slip, she wasted no time pouncing on him for it.

_I do feel kind of bad, though. It's not like he isn't trying and I'm sure he gets very exhausted from working so much. . .But, this is his job, like it or not. _

She scrubbed aggressively at her teeth, trying to get to all the necessary spots before hearing a familiar knocking at her door. "I'm coming!" she called out somewhat unintelligibly, what with there being a tooth brush in her mouth and all. Rinsing and spitting out quickly, she rushed towards the door and threw her bag over her shoulder in mid step. With keys in hand, she threw open the door and greeted her companion. "Good morning. . .Dr. . .Stiles. . ." The usual smile on her face dipped upon seeing the man at her door. ". . .Derek . .you don't look so good."

She was right. Derek's hair was never the neatest, but it was notably more messy than usual. His eyes were visibly tired and he was pale as well. Anymore so, and he would have passed for the living dead. "I'm just tired." Derek replied, lazily rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I had a hard time sleeping last night." Angie narrowed her eyes slightly, though even as she began scrutinizing the doctor, there was a notable softness in her gaze. "You're rather pale. You may be coming down with something."

She gently reached for his forehead to feel for a temperature. Notable warmth spread through Derek upon her touch, but not so much as to feign a fever. "I told you Angie, I'm not sick. I'm just . . ." he paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. " . . I didn't get a lot of sleep." Angie withdrew her hand upon confirming this, her mouth twisted into a frown. "You weren't staying up really late, were you?"

"Wh-what? No! Angie, I . . ."

A brief silence fell between them, and in those seconds Derek mulled over whether to tell her about the nightmares that plagued him. It was not so much that he was embarrassed to admit that bad dreams were causing his fatigue. Well, perhaps a little, but there was something more ominous about them. After his fright induced awaking earlier that morning, he had remained in the bathroom, washing his face and studying his reflection in the mirror until the first rays of sunlight slithered into his apartment. He had gotten a lot of thinking done in that time, and the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed his dreams were being caused by an internal force. He had yet to put his finger on it, or even explain it properly, but _something_ told him that neither stress nor a poorly digested meal were behind it.

What other options did that leave him with? The thought of it being a premonition was by far his least favorite scenario. Even if that were the case, which he hoped to whatever deity was watching over them it was not, it still left him with quite an abstract puzzle. The stronger notion he had was that someone was deliberately causing them. Derek could practically hear Victor's voice chime in at the back of his mind, telling him how illogical and downright idiotic that idea was when it had first dawned upon him. There was no denying that, especially when taking account that he had no suspect or motive behind it. However . . . .

"Derek. . .?"

"Huh? Oh . .nothing. It's nothing."

The look Angie had cast him was an obvious indicator that she did not believe him. He would have been surprised if she were not still suspicious and was thankful that she decided not to press him further. Instead, she gave a small nod of acknowledgement and suggested they start heading for work less they become late. Though thankful, he was not foolish enough to think that she would just let it go. Derek only hoped he had a better idea of what was happening to him before she _ i really /i _ started to get on his case.

-----

The ride to work was uncomfortably silent. Aside from having so much brewing in the back of his mind, Derek had to put his entire focus on the road to counteract his fatigue. Angie recognized this and did not say a word, but she was unable to control her restless squirming. Leaning her head against the window, she allowed her mind to wander as it too was a storm of thoughts and worries.

_He said he's just tired, but why does he look pale? He doesn't have a fever or any other symptoms, but . . ._

Angie bit her lip tenderly as she glanced towards Derek. At the first glance, he looked as normal as any other man. His expression was indifferent as he intently focused on the traffic ahead of him. Aside from his slightly pale complexion, he looked perfectly healthy. Angie was not convinced and her nurse's instincts, as well as concern for him, would not allow her to be satisfied.

_You're getting a thorough examination when we get to Caduceus HQ, whether you like it or not._

Angie was jerked from her thoughts when the car made a gently but abrupt stop. To her surprise, she found that they had arrived at Caduceus's massive parking lot already – she had not even noticed when they stopped at the guard station. With the car safely parked and engine cut, the pair unbuckled their seatbelts and grabbed their belongings. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Angie took the chance to speak up first. "Maybe you should take a quick nap after we clock in, Dr. Stiles."

"Huh?" Derek glanced over his shoulder, fumbling slightly with his car keys. "I can't do that. We have patients to check up on and –"

"It's nothing I can't handle myself." She reassured, catching up to his side to walk with him. "Besides, you have that surgery at 11:30 today, right? We wouldn't want you operating while you're fighting fatigue."

"That's true, I guess. The patient's safety comes first. . ."

"Exactly! I'll handle the rounds and wake you up if there's anything unusual. Then you can take a few hours to recharge before the operation. How does that sound, Doctor?"

"I dunno . . ."

"Huh?"

"I mean, it sounds good and I appreciate the offer, but sleeping first thing in my shift seems . . ."

" . . .Lazy? Huh, you never worried about looking like a slacker when we were at Hope."

"Wha? Hey!"

Derek stopped in his tracks, as did Angie. Turning to face him, she could not help but feel relieved at the annoyed flare in his eyes. After him being so quiet that morning, it was good to know he still had some fire in him. "That was in the past! I've changed!"

"I'm just teasing, Derek." Angie allowed herself a smile. "Besides, everyone around here has seen how hard you work. You even came in on your first day off in weeks without complaining when the Chief called you. I'm sure they'll understand if you take an hour or two to rest up before surgery. And if they have a problem with it, they'll have to deal with me!"

Derek sighed, defeated but smiled slightly. "All right, all right. You win."

They approached the main entrance and swiped their badges through the security reader. A high pitched series of beeps followed by a small green light declared that they were cleared for access. Just as the main double doors hissed open, a sudden cry from above grabbed Derek's attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he felt his blood freeze at the sight of a large crow. It stared intently at him from its streetlight perch, burning holes into his flesh. As he found himself entrapped by the crow's stare, he suddenly felt . . . vulnerable – unsafe.

The crow abruptly let out another shrill cry as it stretched out its wings and lifted its head towards the sky. The sound made an eerie echo throughout the parking lot and if Derek had not known better, he would have thought the entire area was deserted. Dead.

Though his gaze remained fixed on the bird, Derek managed to take a small step towards the door. "Just a bird. . ." he whispered to himself and, in one swift movement, closed his eyes and tore himself away from the crow. He almost shuddered as he felt its eyes barring down upon him, but continued on quickly through the doors. _What the hell was that just now? Why did that bird make me feel so uneasy?_ He felt the double doors slide close behind him and let go of a soft sigh. _Whatever that was, at least it's over. . . _" . . . What?!"

Derek's eyes flew open the instant his shoe stepped in the warm, shallow puddle. He looked down and withdrew his foot with a gasp. His distorted reflection stared back from the rippling blood, the red tint of his features only causing more uneasy to the already horrified doctor. He quickly searched for the source of the blood but found only that the puddle extended into a dark series of rivers that stretched to the far end of the deserted hallways. _W-where is everyone? Angie?_

Derek looked frantically around. Not only was the normally populated lobby completely desolate, but the internal lights had gone off as well. Even the powerful morning sun seemed to have dimmed, casting orange tinted rays through the blood stained windows and glass doors. "Angie! Anyone?" he called out. His first response was his own cry, echoing eerily around the empty corridors. The second followed his dying voice, striking with such sharp abruptness that it caused him to jump. The crow's song poured upon Derek from all directions but he found his gaze being pulled towards the door. The insufferable bird was, of course, there, perched comfortable on the shoulder of a dark silhouette. Derek froze and, if he had been thinking rationally, would have decided that he was getting all too familiar with feeling the blood drain from his face. "No . . . it's not possible . . ."

"Dr. Stiles!"

With a sudden hand on his shoulder, Derek spun around and found himself looking directly into Angie's emerald eyes. Gasping, he took a few shaking steps back and took in his surroundings. The lights were back on, there was no blood to be seen, and everyone was starring at him. "Dr. Stiles, are you all right?" Angie approached him carefully as he took in several deep breaths. He faced her as he slowly got his breathing under control, trying to ignore the scrutiny of everyone else. "I . . . I'm okay. I just . . . I was," Angie grasped his arm before he could stumble through another word and began yanking him down the hallway. "I'm going to have Dr. Clarks examine you." She said simply, though her voice slightly wavered with worry, her tone clearly said there would be no objections on his part. Derek found himself too bewildered to protest anyway and allowed the nurse to lead him.

The remaining staff watched as the pair disappeared out of vision and slowly returned to their tasks, whispering to one another. While the floor nurses and receptionists spent the rest of the day talking of and speculating on Derek Stiles' strange behavior, none had taken the time to look out the double doors. Had they bothered to find out just what had entrapped the surgeon's attention, they may have noticed a large crow that perched itself on the light just across from the main entrance.

I don't think I did a very good job on this chapter. Not only that, but my pathetic attempt at a creepy ending to the chapter sucked. Oh well . . .

In the DS version – which this story is based off of – Angie doesn't call Derek by his first name until way into chapter five. I know in the Wii version she calls him 'Derek' in chapter one after the intestinal tumor guy's surgery. So, if you've only played the Wii version it may seem a bit strange that she's calling him 'Dr. Stiles' so much rather than Derek. Just let it be known that Angie – being the professional that she is – will refer to him as 'Dr. Stiles' in formal situations and 'Derek' in more personal ones.

I kind of wish they kept it that way in the Wii version though. After hearing her refer to him as 'Dr. Stiles' for the whole game, it's kind of surprising when she uses a less formal way to address him. It really shows that they've grown close, IMO.

I always liked the idea of Derek picking Angie up on his way to work in the morning (or evening, doctors and nurses get graveyard shifts too). We know that Angie doesn't have a car, as she said in the beginning that she took the bus to work, but now that I think about it, Derek probably doesn't have one either. He wouldn't be taking a taxi all over Angeles Bay if he did. But I digress, if he didn't have one in the game, he has one now. Maybe Caduceus gave him one as a way of thanking him for all his hard work.

On another note: Okay, I was originally going to use a raven as Derek's avian stalker, but ravens are _so_ overused. Besides, crows are every bit as ominous and I decided that a lone crow would be more unnerving than a raven anyway. Crows are normally social and are not seen on their own too much, so to see one flying around by itself like this is unusual. Plus, as many of you may already know, a group of crows is called a _murder_ which makes them cooler than ravens by default. I mean, c'mon! Which sounds cooler?

"Look! It's a murder of crows!"

"Look! It's an unkindness of ravens!"

See what I mean? Besides, murder of crows! _Murder!_ Redrum! Can we say ominous? I thought we could.

So, let me knows what you thought!


	3. Foreshadow

Yay! Mooncat, one of my kind reviewers, gave me a crow-shaped cookie! (munch) I loooove cookies! Thank you to Mooncat and my other two reviewers and that I look forward to your feedback!

Disclaimer: Don't own Trauma Center or some of the dialog (as it was directly from the X missions). These be owned by Atlus. The patient's namesake belongs to DC comics.

Paying the Price: Trauma Center UTK Fanfiction

Chapter 3: Foreshadow

"Well, your vitals are normal, though your heart rate is a bit high."

Dr. Stephen Clarks casually threw the stethoscope around his neck as he rounded the examination table. Derek sat on the edge of the cot, gripping the sides of it as his heart still raced from earlier. Beside him stood Angie, silently fumbling with the sphygmomanometer she had used to take his blood pressure. Though she was confident that Dr. Clarks' examination would shed some insight to Derek's strange behavior that morning, she could not help but recall another time in which he had acted on edge, back when they were in Brussels. Then, too, he had insisted it was caused only by a night of poor sleep. She had entrusted him in that diagnoses as his symptoms had been much less severe. However, she could not shake the feeling that the two incidents were connected. Picking up a chart, Dr. Clarks continued.

"I don't have enough information to base this on at the moment, but it looks like the beginning signs of GAD. Is there anything causing you anxiety, Dr. Stiles?"

"W-well . . .I . .um . ." Derek let out a sigh as he cast his gaze downward. There really was not much use in denying it any longer. Dr. Clarks had, more or less, hit the nail on the head. His colleagues were professionals and exceptionally good at their field of choice; attempting to hide any sort of illness in a hospital filled with the best of the best doctors and nurses was simply delusional. With another sigh, Derek conceded. "Actually, there is . . ."

"What is it, Dr. Stiles?" Angie asked, but was quickly silenced when Dr. Clarks raised a hand. "Let's try not to pry, Miss Thompson. Dr. Stiles will tell whomever he sees fit, if and when he's ready."

"You're right, Doctor. I apologize. I'm just . . . worried."

Derek was silenced by Angie's words, despite not at all being surprised. Of course she was worried about him; they had been through too much _not _to care for each other. In what way, he was not yet certain. Regardless, he could feel a some what calming warmth spread through him, just knowing that she was looking out for him. And he smiled. It was small and almost unnoticeable, but it was genuine.

"Don't worry, Angie. It's nothing serious." He looked up at the nurse and elder surgeon. "I've just got some . . . things going on and I'm a little edgy right now, that's all."

"If you're sure that's all it is, Dr. Stiles, regardless I'm a bit worried as well." Dr. Clarks replied. "I won't force you to say anything you're not comfortable with, but do you think you'll be able to handle the operation this morning?"

Derek somehow managed not to flinch at the question. "I – I'm fairly sure I can handle it. I just need some rest." He said, growing a bit uneasy when Dr. Clarks did not respond to that immediately. The senior surgeon withdrew as he began an internal deliberation, leaving the young pair to share an uneasy glance. "All right, Dr. Stiles. Get some sleep and let me know how you feel before the procedure."

"Right, thank you, sir." Derek nodded as he slid off the table. Satisfied, Dr. Clarks excused himself, leaving the young medics in his wake. Angie gave him a petite smile as she placed the sphygmomanometer on a nearby table and grabbed a chart. "I'm going to start the rounds, Doctor." Derek acknowledged her with another nod and smile. "Okay, wake me up if you need me."

". . . .Dr. Stiles?"

"Yes, Angie?"

Her smile tightened and dipped slightly as she bowed her head. Derek could barely make out her eyes through her yellow bangs, but it was easy to see the concern that glossed over them. He felt his own smile slip. "Angie . . . I –"

"Dr. Stiles, you've taken care of so many patients. Sometimes I worry that you forget to take care of yourself."

Derek frowned, uncertain of how to respond. "Angie, I . . .I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just start taking care of yourself. That's all I ask."

"Well, if that's all it takes then . . ."

Angie gave him a playful shove out the door. "Stop talking and take that nap you promised! I'll see you at the pre-op briefing." She smiled and turned to leave without another word, leaving a mildly overwhelmed Derek to watch her retreat. He rubbed the back of his neck and released a quick sigh before making his way towards the on call room.

"Derek! Hey, wait up!"

Derek stopped and turned, allowing Tyler to catch up with him. The blond man slowed his jogged and quickly scooped up a few renegade papers that tried to slip from the file folder in his left hand. One managed to escape, fluttering gently towards the tile floor where Derek recaptured it. "Hmm, wow. You started the report on the new Powell Procedure already?"

"Started it? Dude, I'm finished! I just need to run it over to the Chief for final approval."

"Heh, typical geek." Derek smirked slightly as he read the heading and handed the cover sheet back to the ace academic.

"Thanks. . . . good to see you're your usual self."

"What?"

Tyler wordlessly straightened his report papers before returning them to his file, his usually cheerful smile was no where to be seen. "I heard you were acting really weird in the lobby this morning and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh, that. I . . ." Derek felt a rush of embarrassment overtake him. At the time he was too shaken up to take notice or care, but in retrospect, it would probably be his most humiliating moment within the hospital walls. "Don't worry about that. I was just lost in my own world and . . ."

"Are you sure?" Tyler raised an eyebrow. "You look a little –"

"Pale. I know. I was just on my way to take a nap."

". . . . . Well, I hope you feel better."

"Yeah, thanks."

Derek resumed walking with Tyler meeting his steps. Slowly, the latter's smile returned as his cheerful disposition no longer had to contend with the concern over his best friend. "Dude, I had the sweetest dream about Scarlett last night!"

". . . I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"

-----

"Let's start the briefing." Chief Sidney Kasal addressed the surgical team assigned to this procedure, consisting of Dr. Clarks, Derek and Angie. Dr. Victor Niguel was present as well. Being the head of Research and Development, he would be overseeing the recovery of the bacterial sample for research.

"As you all recall, we have received several cases of a new strain of bacteria that invades and festers inside various organs. The strain appears to seek out a single organ to be its host and does not typically spread to other parts of the body. However, the resulting toxin will eventually prove too much for the victim's body to handle. The disease works slowly and, for the moment, is only communicable through direct contact with the victim's blood or saliva. For this reason, I ask anyone who has an open cut or any other puncture in their skin to refrain from participating in this procedure. Extreme care is necessary for this operation.

"Today's patient is Leonid Kovar. He was admitted three days ago and the infection has overtaken his pancreas. His vitals have been dropping slowly but he is otherwise stable. Regardless, we need to be fast and proficient if we are to treat him. The operation has only one objective –

- Recover a small sample of the bacteria for research.

"Be sure not to remove too much of the mucus. As we've observed in other patients, attempting to drain the mucus completely will only cause the bacteria to create more. This creates a sudden surge of toxin in the patient's body which will instantly cost his or her life. Collect only as much as necessary and no more. Are there any questions?"

The doctors and nurse remained silent, signifying that all was understood. The chief gave a small nod of approval. "Good. Please begin the operation."

-----

"Let's begin, Dr. Stiles." Angie said, signaling that she and the rest of the team were ready.

"Understood." Derek disinfected the area before creating his incision, running almost automatically through the most rudimentary of surgical procedures. With the opening of the patient, the man's discolored pancreas was visible before him.

"All right, Stiles, listen up." Victor murmured in his usual monotone. "The infestation has festered in between the outer membranes of the organ. We don't want it to get past the inner layers, so be careful when you make your incision."

Derek took in the researcher's instructions, tenderly pinching the outermost layer with his forceps and gently pulling it towards him. With sufficient space between the two membranes, he slowly punctured the pancreas and a tiny dot of bright green puss squeezed out. He set the scalpel back on the tray and reached for the drain in order to get a sample. The mucus made a nauseating sound as it was suctioned, and the surgical team cringed mildly in spite of their experience.

"That'll be sufficient, Derek." Victor mumbled again. "Finish treatment and close the patient."

Derek placed the drain back on the tray as Angie held out the forceps and carbon skin graph. He took them from her, giving her a subtle nod in thanks, and placed the graph over the puncture. Once again his body flowed through the practiced motions as he massaged the antibiotic gel onto the wound, when a vicious frigid bit at his fingers.

His body stiffened as the chill ran throughout his body and, in that brief second, all Hell seemed to break loose. "His vitals are dropping fast! What in the world just happened?" Dr. Clarks almost had to yell to compete with the screech of the heart monitor. "He's going into ventricle fibrillation! Where's the defibrillator!?" The surgical tray crashed violently to the floor in the midst of Angie's frantic search for the machine and Victor was nearly toppled over. "Jesus Christ! Be careful! We don't want it spreading!"

"Get me a stabilizer!"

"I need a bio container! _Now!_"

"He's flat lining!"

"Stiles! Do something!"

Derek was nearly oblivious to the chaos that exploded around him. It was hard to focus on anything else, as he watched the man's pancreas begin to dissolve under his touch. _No, this isn't happening._ Slowly he withdrew his trembling fingers. _This can't be happening. . . .Oh God . . .no . . ._ A black river of tar poured from his finger tips, sizzling into the patient's other organs and flesh as it dripped. "No . . "

The frantic surgical team around him halted and turned towards the stunned surgeon. For that moment, they shared his shocked silence, leaving the flat lined heart monitor as the only source of sound. It quickly changed as their expressions melted into rage. "Derek! What the hell did you do?!" Victor shouted.

"It's n-not me!" Derek pleaded. "I - I . . . I'm not doing this!"

"You're killing him!"

"Derek! Why are you doing this?" Angie cried as she cupped her hands to her chest. Her voice cut through him, searing with a mixture of rage and anguish. "Angie! I swear I'm not . . ."

_"Your skills have given birth to many lives which never should have been. . . They are your GUILT. . ."_

The angry doctors and nurse around him were muffled by the sinister voice. Derek looked up, startled, as his eyes directed him towards a dark corner of the room. The voice was not coming from within his mind, as it had been before. It was there, where a pair of piercing eyes glared out from the shadows. "Adam! You're . . ." The figure took a ginger step forward and, as the light illuminated his figure, Derek felt his innards take an icy plunge. "No . . .this isn't happening!"

"_Your medicine is deceit, and you are nothing but a false prophet..." _

Adam's voice slithered from the figure's smirking lips, but that face did not belong to the long deceased Delphi leader. Neither did the malevolent eyes, which began to glow with a hint of blood red as they narrowed to slits. Instead, the dark figure through which Adam was speaking was . . . himself. Time stopped around him as Derek watched his evil counterpart approach the operating table. "Wh-who . . .what . .are you? What do you want?"

"_You are nothing but a false prophet."_ Adam's voice repeated through his twin's body. He raised his right hand and held it above the patient's remains. "_But all that has changed. I have blessed you."_

"What?!" Derek tried to take a step back, but found that his body was unable to move. His feet were all but stuck to the spot and he could only watch helplessly as his own right hand shakily rose to match the pose of his doppelganger. "_I have given you the gift of Bliss. Indeed, you have been blessed with the gift of death itself." _Derek felt warmth ooze down his temples and forehead, realizing right away that it was blood. "Y-you're insane! You can't do this!" he yelled, feeling nauseas as the blood trickled into his mouth.

"_Accept the gifts that you have been given." _Derek heard his own voice mix in with that of Adam, and both their hands began bleeding out more of the dark liquid. "_You cannot deny death or the powers within you. You have no choice."_

"No! I won't let you do this!"

"_From this day forth, you will bathe in blood. You will indulge in the taste of death."_ A large crow slowly began to rise from the dark pool on the table, its blood red eyes burning holes into Derek. He closed his eyes tightly but the images stayed with him, almost as if they were crawling into his mind.

"_You will deliver this Bliss onto the world. That will be your prophecy."_

"No! I won't let this happen! I'm a doctor! I help people! Nothing will change that!"

"_Derek . . ."_

Opening his eyes, Derek was startled to see his counterpart looking at him sympathetically. The evil smirk and glowing eyes were gone and so to was Adam's voice. "D – Derek?" he stuttered. "What are you . . .?"

"_Their blood._ _It's already on your head."_

Derek did not even realize he had regained control of his body as his eyes darted towards the floor, where he felt a warm pool around his feet. The source of the blood, which covered every square inch of the floor, was the slain bodies of Dr. Clarks, Victor and Angie. Their remains were twisted horribly and their lifeless eyes were wide, frozen with a final emotion of terror before their passing. "No. . .no!" Blood began pouring in from the ceiling, vents and door. Derek backpedaled and pressed his back against the wall as the blood level rose quickly and engulfed him. "Nooo!"

-----

A strangled gasp ripped from Derek's throat as he sat up. Panting and shaking heavily, he reached for his glasses with a trembling hand. He slipped them on a quickly rushed out of the on call room, thankful that no one else decided to come in for a nap at the time. He reached the nearest Men's room in record time, throwing his glasses on the counter and splashing cold water on his face. After the third handful of water, he turned off the faucet and closed his eyes, feeling the cool liquid drip from his face. "These dreams . . . am I loosing my mind?"

Derek sighed and reached for a paper towel as his racing heart finally began to calm down. _There can't really be any meaning to this, can there? They're just nightmares. Horrible, vivid nightmares and nothing more, right? _He groaned into the towel as he finished drying off his face. "Maybe I really am loosing my mind." He tossed the paper into the trash and reached for his glasses, sighing again as he slipped them on. "This is just great. There's no way I –"

He froze, his eyes widening and heart accelerating to its previous rate as the reflection of a shadow glared from behind him. He spun around quickly, coming face to face with nothing more than the empty stalls and quickly turned back to the mirror, seeing only his frightened reflection and those same stalls behind him. His hand rested over his hammering chest as he leaned against the counter for support. "Oh good God! What the hell is wrong with me?!"

-----

"Dr. Clarks."

The middle aged surgeon turned at the sound of his name. "Ah, Dr. Stiles. Are you able to proceed with the operation?" Derek sighed heavily, bowing his head. "I'm sorry. I can't handle the procedure today."

"So, you're still not feeling well? You should speak with Sidney. I'm sure he'll let you go home if you're sick."

"I'm not sick. I just . . . I need some fresh air. I'm sorry."

Derek turned quickly and excused himself from the conference room. He was fortunate enough to get out of there before Angie arrived. He did not think he could handle seeing her worried eyes at the moment. _I'm sorry, Angie. What good am I as a surgeon if I can't operate just because I had a nightmare? I'm letting you down, aren't I?_

"Dr. Stiles."

"Huh? Gah!"

Derek was startled out of his thoughts as he nearly collided with the current Director of Caduceus USA. "Dr. Hoffman! I – I didn't see you there."

"Dr. Stiles." The elderly man continued unflinching. "I'd like to see you in my office."

-----

To Be Continued . . .

Don't worry, Derek's not in trouble. Well, he is but . . . ah you'll see.

Sorry if the operation turning out to be another dream seemed like a cop-out, but it was necessary for the plot. I also apologize if anyone was grossed out by the puss and mucus infestations. Another necessary evil, I'm afraid.

GAD – General Anxiety Disorder. Symptoms include (but are not limited to): restlessness, excessive tension or a feeling of being 'edgy', fatigue, trembling, being easily startled and trouble falling/staying asleep. For more information, consult your doctor.

Gah! I just can't nail Dr. Clarks' character down. He's the head surgeon so of course he's going to be professional and serious, but at the same time, he's a father to two young children and has been known to have a kind demeanor. I tried to get a good balance of serious professional surgeon/kind fatherly guy but I don't think I did a very good job.

As for the patient, if there are any comic geeks reading this, you may have noticed that Leonid Kovar is the civilian name of the Teen Titan, Red Star. I took his name because it was just the first thing that popped into my head.

I really hope I'm not making Derek seem too wimpy. Obviously, I want him to be scared of what is happening to him, but I don't want to turn him into some whimpering coward either. Sure, he may not be the bravest man around, but he's been in dangerous situations before. He disarmed a bomb for Peter's sake! I think he'd be somewhat used to life threatening situations by now. Not to say that he still doesn't get scared, but you know . . .

Mooncat said in a review of chapter one that Derek's nightmare would have been more disturbing if Derek saw himself talking to him in an accusing, demonic voice. I thought, "Hey, that's a cool idea!" so I decided to act upon it.

Anyway, I think I have some weird obsession about torturing my favorite characters and having them drenched in blood. I swear I'm not crazy! Well, maybe a little. . .

Please leave a feedbacks!


	4. In the Past

Paying the Price

Chapter Four: In the Past

As Derek followed Director Hoffman into his office, he was unable to determine if the nervous twinges he felt were due to his dreams or his current situation. Being called to the Director's office was never good for one's nerves. He had been getting used to it, though. Usually for Angie and himself, being called meant that they were being asked to take on another mission of sorts. Of course, those times Dr. Hoffman wore a casual smirk, knowing well that they would both accept without a moment of hesitation. Now, as the elder doctor took his place behind his desk and motioned for Derek to have a seat, he wore a grim, worried look.

"I heard about what had happened in the lobby this morning." Dr. Hoffman's voice was not particularly harsh, but it cut straight to the point. Derek bit his lip slightly, looking away and feeling himself grow a pinkish hue. "Dr. Clarks also told me you were behaving rather anxiously." Derek opened his mouth but found himself unable to form any words. Just as well, for Hoffman raised a hand to silence him. "Let me reassure you that you're not going to be reprimanded for any of this. That's not why I called you here."

There was a brief moment when he visibly relaxed, not having to place his job security on his list of worries. However, the anxiety returned when he remembered that he still did not know why he had been called. If it related to his strange visions, but was not about his behavior, then . . "I'm going to be straight forward with you, Derek. You are in grave danger."

"What?" Derek bolted up slightly.

". . . . Do you remember what I had warned you about . . . when you first became aware of your Healing Touch?"

"Of course, you warned me that it would cost me my happiness . . ." He paused. ". . possibly my life . . ."

"I was hoping . . ." Dr. Hoffman broke off slightly, casting his gaze towards his polished desk. " . . .after you learned to control your ability, I had hoped that this wouldn't happen to you . . "

"Wh-wha? Then you know what's happening to me?"

"Not entirely. There are things about the Healing Touch that I still don't know, even after all these years. It may be a mere side effect of your powers, or something much more serious."

Derek gulped silently. ". . . How serious?"

"Derek, you said that you knew about something that happened to me in the past, but do you know the whole story?"

". . .No."

Dr. Hoffman sighed softly at that, even though he had already suspected the answer. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave here. You'll understand that this is a rather . . . sensitive part of my life, but you need to know if it can save yours."

-----

20 years ago – Angeles Bay Hope Hospital

A young man rushed towards the doors, his breath ragged and backpack bouncing with every hurried step he took. He slowed for only a moment, to allow the automatic doors to open for him, before rushing towards the nurse's station. A young woman had just finished compiling a patient's medical folder when he came in. He panted for breath as he slipped off his backpack and took an empty seat. "Am I . . . late Mrs. Fulton?"

Mary looked at the exhausted teenager with an amusing smile on her lips. "Not at all, Greg. In fact, you had a good fifteen minutes to spare." Greg let out a relieved sigh among his gasps for air and he wiped a small veil of sweat from his forehead. "I thought I was going to be late for sure. That stupid bus driver doesn't take his job seriously. He has no concept of time at all!"

"Are you all right? Do you need any water?" Mary asked.

"No, I've got some here, thanks. I just need to catch my breath."

She gave him a nod and returned to her paper work as he took a long drink from a sports bottle. After a few minutes of filing, she turned towards him and cradled an unusually small number of clip boards to her chest. "There aren't too many patients we need to check up on right now, so how would you like to watch Dr. Hoffman's next surgery?"

"Of course! I feel like I learn so much just watching him operate." he exclaimed, perking up instantly.

Mary could barely contain the chuckle that bubbled within her. For a teenager, Greg was surprisingly composed, but the notable spark of youth was still there all the same. He quickly grabbed his scrubs from his backpack as Mary handed him a clipboard. "All right then. The operation is in an hour and we should have no trouble checking on these patients before then. Meet me in room 143 when you're changed."

He stuffed his scrubs under an arm and flipped through the clip board. "Are you going to assist Dr. Hoffman for this one?"

"Yes, this should be my third operation working with him." She sighed. Her breath fluttered slightly as she spoke, causing Greg to take notice.

"Is something wrong, Mary?"

"Oh, I . . . wouldn't say anything is wrong exactly." She said. "Honestly, I'm a little nervous. It's not that I'm intimidated by Dr. Hoffman, but working beside him can be sort of . . . frightening."

"Frightening?" The pages of the clip board slowly slipped from his fingers.

"Yes, well, he just moves so quickly. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. I honestly don't know how he does it and . . . well, you've noticed, haven't you?"

Greg shifted his gaze, his previous enthusiasm melting into solid thought. His left hand rose to cradle his chin as his mouth twisted slightly and a hum purred from his throat. "I have noticed, but I never thought of it as frightening. It's more like . . . ." he paused, his eyes narrowing as he searched for an appropriate description. "It's like . . . supernatural. Almost as if he's a God among men." He took another pause before a laugh sputtered from him. "I'm sorry. That's pretty stupid, huh?"

"A God among men." Mary echoed. "I don't know if that's how I'd describe it myself, but there may be something to that."

"Huh?" Greg said, cutting of his own laughter abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"To be honest, Greg, I'm not quite sure. There's just something about him and the way he moves. I may not be the most experienced nurse, but I've work with my share of surgeons. They're all great, but Dr. Hoffman is in a league of his own. Even older and more experienced surgeons have never pulled of the miracles that he has."

"He has a gift." Greg's composed nature returned as he bundled his scrubs and clipboard under an arm. "I hope I can work under him someday."

"You're well on your way. I know you'll make a great doctor."

"Thanks, Mary. Speaking of which, I'd better stop wasting time. I'll see you in a bit." He was off to change without another word.

"So, that's the young aspiring doctor I've heard so much about."

Mary jumped slightly at the voice and accompanying chuckle that came from behind her. She turned, her eyes meeting those of a slightly pudgy man, well aged and hair balding. "I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't mean to startle you." He said, ending his soft laughter.

"Oh! Dr. Karston! What brings you out of the office, today?"

"I wanted to speak with everyone involved with today's surgery. I'm sure you're aware of the situation." The nurse nodded and her features took on a subtle hardness.

"Of course, sir. I know this was a difficult decision for you. I'll do my best."

Dr. Karston nodded in approval before he glanced at the empty doorway. "That boy, I'm sorry, his name is Greg?"

"Yes, Greg Kasal."

"Ah, yes. I've heard much about him from Dr. Hoffman and he in turn heard much from you. From what I understand, he's very enthusiastic and serious for his age."

"That's true."

"I overheard that he'll be joining us in the observer lounge."

Mary's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, I should've asked for your approval first. I hope you don't mind, sir."

"Not at all." He grinned. "This will be a good lesson for him. I'm pleased that you're taking such an initiative to give him so much exposure. This will make him a fantastic doctor."

"Yes, of course." She breathed. "I'd better not keep him waiting."

"Good luck today, Mary. I know you won't let me down."

"Thank you very much, sir!"

-----

A light haired woman cringed in her hospital bed. Sweat shone against her pale skin as she groaned in agony, tossing her head slightly as if to escape the pain. A labored breath burst from her and finally gave in. Rolling over to face her sun washed window, she curled up and gripped her stomach as she let out a small cry. All the pain and frustration she had bottled up came rushing from her throat in the form of an escalating screech. She took in another heavy breath once her lungs ran out of air and her body fell into a convulsive interval of screams and gasps.

The door to her room opened and she found her will power again, forcing herself to hush. She rolled back over to greet the pair of footsteps that entered. The lighter of the two rushed towards her bed and gripped the side guard. "Mom, are you okay? You were screaming!"

The woman forced herself into a sitting position and grinned as best she could. "I'm sorry if I startled you, Michelle. I'm okay, just in a little bit of pain." Michelle looked unconvinced and there was a mild bit of offense in her eyes.

"Mom, I'm ten. I'm not stupid and I can handle the truth." She said, casting a concerned glare.

A genuine smile under toned the mother's forced one. "Y-you're right. I'm sorry, honey. I just didn't want to worry you."

"Ellen, it's important that you tell us exactly how you feel. We need to be able to anticipate any complications."

Ellen turned her attention towards the middle aged man that had spoken. She sighed, somewhat comforted by the familiar brown hair and well groomed beard, but also somewhat annoyed by it as well. "Robert, do you have to lecture me on this every time?"

"Only if you keep holding back information." Robert took a step towards her bed, his stern expression soften slightly. "Please, Ellen. You know how serious this is."

Ellen conceded and slowly allowed her body to succumb to the tremors of pain. "The pain's gotten worse, and I've been feeling really nauseated."

"The waste blockage, most likely. Nothing else?"

"Nothing else." She repeated, grimacing as another wave of pain overcame her. Her arms gave out under the strain and she collapsed back onto her bed. An agonized moan was pushed from her lips as her head met the pillow. "Mom . . . ." Michelle's voice choked as she encircled her mother's neck with a hug. Ellen returned the hug as best she could and felt a hand gently push her sweat soaked hair from her brow. She looked up just in time to be caught in a small kiss. "Hold on, Ellen. This will be over soon, I promise." Robert whispered as he pulled back.

"Dr. Hoffman."

The three looked towards the door where Dr. Karston was standing. "We'll be starting the briefing now." Robert gave the Director a nod before turning back to the girls. "I'll be back shortly. Keep an eye on your mother, Michelle."

"Okay, Dad."

Giving the two a warm smile, he excused himself and joined Karston in the hallway. "You know I don't usually condone having surgeons operate on family members." Karston spoke in a hushed tone as they walked towards the conference room.

"I understand your position, Dr. Karston. I'm thankful that you're allowing me to operate on her."

"The Board was skeptical, but all things considered, they agreed that you may be the only one that could pull off such a difficult procedure. Still, the conflict of interest has them a bit tense."

Robert frowned at that. _I have a lot of people counting on me._

_**Robert! Robert, it hurts!**_

"What the . . ?" His form snapped rigid at the soft echo that descended upon him. He looked around, unable to determine from whom or where the cry had come. He only vaguely noticed that the hallway had dimmed considerably. His focus was mainly on trailing the voice.

_**Robert . . . please! **_

He was still unable to determine where the sound was coming from, but his body turned him back towards his ailing wife's room. "Ellen?" he muttered. The pounds of his own heart nibbled his ears.

_**Robert . . . help me! Robert . . .**_

"Robert?"

Another voice cut through the echo, ending the sound abruptly and startling him. "Is something the matter?" Dr. Karston asked, arching a brow at the surgeon. Robert met his gaze for a moment before looking around, seeing the hospital employees and visitors going about their daily business. "Didn't you hear that?" he said as he turned back. "Someone was calling for help."

"Calling for help?" Dr. Karston said and set his glance down the hall. "Are you sure? I didn't hear anything."

Robert had already taken a few steps forward but slowed to a stop as he noticed no one else reacting to it. More than anything, he wanted to make sure Ellen was okay, but he did not want to needlessly cause his wife and daughter more distress. That aside, he knew Michelle would have alerted him if Ellen was truly calling for help. "I. . . . must've imagined it."

"Are you sure you're ready to operate? I know you're under a lot of pressure."

"It's nothing I can't handle, sir." Robert said as he snapped his mind back to attention. Dr. Karston gave a reassured smirk. "Of course, I forgot who I was speaking with. You're the best surgeon I've seen. Now then," he turned back towards their original destination as he spoke, Robert matching his steps. Hushed bits of the procedure details were passed between them as they made their way to the conference room and, while Robert picked up and comprehended every word, he could not help but to glance over his shoulder every few seconds. He shrugged it off as nerves. He would be lying if he said he was not slightly anxious in spite of his experience, but he would not let that stop him.

_It's . . . nothing I can't handle._

-----

The Pre-Op Conference room had been mercifully quiet as Robert entered. It only took him a moment to calm his mind, just as he had before countless other successful operations. The Healing Touch, he discovered, was good for preparation as well as during surgery. A few deep breaths and a faded star in his mind were all it took for his nerves to settle just in time for Nurse Fulton to enter. "Are you ready, Mary?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." was her simple reply.

"Let's review the briefing."

"Of course, Dr. Hoffman." She opened the file she had held pressed against her chest and gently began to thumb through as she read. "The patient is a 40 year old female with a history of mild gastric complications. Her condition was easily treated with a change in diet, but two weeks ago the patient began experiencing severe dizziness, nausea and abdominal pain. A colonoscopy shows that a section of her intestine had apparently twisted on itself. Correction is necessary, but because of the waste blockage, inflammation and history of gastric issues, complications are to be anticipated. Along with that, the cause is still unknown."

Robert nodded, taking in the information with closed eyes. "Anything could happen, Mary. Be prepared for the unexpected."

They wordlessly scrubbed in and stepped into the OR. A resident anesthesiologist had already tended to the patient and everything else had been setup and sterilized for their arrival. With surgical masks and gloves in place, they took their positions at the operating table. "Let's begin." Mary's voice declared.

Robert disinfected and cut the initial incision with defined speed and accuracy. Mary assisted him in clamping the incision open and he felt his brow twitch involuntarily as they inspected the patient's innards. Even with his experience, it was hard not to flinch at what had awaited him inside.

A large portion of the intestinal membrane was inflamed. The infected tissue bled into a darker streak of red near the twisted part of the organ. His hands reached for the syringe as he assessed the situation. The infection was most likely the result of waste blockage. If it were blocked to this point, the twisted section of the intestine had probably been receiving poor circulation. There was not such a far off possibility that the tissue was dead.

He completed his thoughts; much of the inflammation had been treated during that time. He placed the syringe back on the tray and slowly peeled back the layers of the interlinking organ. The actual problem had been conveniently hidden and he felt himself frown as it came into his vision.

There was a stark contrast between the twisted section and the membrane surrounding it. The resulting infection had resulted in a splash of Hellish red which was cut off by the limp, black membrane of the problem area. The tissue was _definitely_ dead.

"Clamps."

The surgical assistant complied. Robert clamped down just past the black tissue on both ends of the dead intestinal section. "I need a waste tray over here, Mary."

Greg stood quietly in the observation deck, his eyes smoothly following the movements of Dr. Hoffman. He ingested the actions and burned them to his memory. He still had much to learn, of course, but at this point he was able to anticipate the more common of surgical procedures. This operation being far from common had provided him with new information to process. So, he remained silent and diligent, much to the surprise of Dr. Karston. _The young man really is everything I've heard of him._

Robert carefully pulled the clamped, dead tissue over the waste tray. He took a small breath, knowing well what would be trapped within. With a fresh breath held, he cut open the intestine and Mary visibly cringed in the corner of his vision.

"You're doing well, Mary." He said, trying not to focus too much on the waste and puss that poured out. He grabbed the drain and suctioned the rest. "Vitals are stable, doctor."

"This next procedure is critical. Be ready, Nurse Fulton. We have no room for mistakes."

She stood by with the stabilizer and drain as Robert prepared to remove the dead tissue. He narrowed his eyes, cutting with speed and precision until the first end was severed. A loud beeping came from the monitors. "Vitals are dropping!"

"Mary, reduce the inflammation and inject the stabilizer!"

_The infection is too much for her body to take. Gotta finish fast and keep her from going into shock._

He propelled his mind into the Healing Touch and continued working as his surroundings turned sluggish. He caught the excess waste in the tray and took care to make sure nothing spilled. He took the scalpel and began cutting through the other half of the dead intestine.

_**Robert! It hurts!**_

"Something's not right." Greg stated, startling those around him. His eyes narrowed and he leaned towards the double glass. "What's the matter, Greg?" Dr. Karston asked. He received no answer as Greg placed his hands on the glass, scrutinizing the surgeon he looked up to. "Dr. Hoffman . . ."

Robert's eyes flickered towards the head of the operating table for a moment. The anesthesiologist continued to watch the monitors and the patient's reactions – or lack there of – and he forced his gaze back to the incision. He could not allow himself to be distracted. He proceeded to cut and was only vaguely aware of his hands shaking.

_**Robert please! Help me!**_

The voice nearly screamed in his ears and he could not help but jerk. "Dr. Hoffman?" he would have heard Mary say in concern, had his intense focus not muffled her out. Gritting his teeth, he forced his scalpel back onto the tissue and gently began cutting away at the dead organ.

_**I don't want to die! Robert, help me!**_

Despite the volume of the cry, it was more of what he saw than heard that made him stop short. She moved. He saw it. Her arms convulsed towards the ceiling, reaching out for him. She was reaching out of her body, which remained stoic and visible through her transparent, animated form. _Oh God, Ellen!_

For a brief moment, he had forgotten where he was. The anxiety he was holding within ruptured inside of him. Robert was a mere man, feeling nothing but fear for his wife. Her ghost self continued to tremor and he saw himself reach out to her. Their fingers merely passed through each other, but he could feel her depleting warmth. Grunting, he forced himself back into his task and even as he could see his hands working, he could not feel them. He could only feel her breath, growing shallow and colder with every exhale. "Ellen, hold on." He whispered.

Robert watched his hands, shaking and clumsy, continue to operate. He reached out with his mind to regain control of them, but he felt nothing. He desperately tried to move other parts of his body, _any_ part of his body. All he accomplished were a series of mental flails as an inky darkness began to bleed into his vision. "I . . . can't . . ."

Finally, he did feel something – a sense of plummeting. The sensation lasted only a few seconds before he was engulfed in a pure curtain of blackness.

-----

Two days later –

"Mary?"

The young nurse looked up from her paper work.

"Do you think Dr. Hoffman will be okay?" Greg asked, fumbling with the folder in his hands. Mary frowned slightly and attempted to catch the corners of her mouth before they dipped too much. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He lost consciousness do to stress and fatigue, but he'll . . ."

"That's not what I meant." Greg cut in flatly.

Mary was afraid of that. The pen in her fingers began tapping rhythmically against the table as she sighed. Greg was uncharacteristically timid that day, but no one could blame him. The surgical department had been notably downcast since Robert's last surgery. "Oh, I just don't know, Greg." Mary sighed. "He's a strong man, but . . . only time will tell."

-----

Room 221 of Hope Hospital was not much different from the others. The walls were washed in a uniformed off white and the tiles were a mahogany brown, giving the floor a wooden look. Light filtered through the thin curtains and poured onto a white bed, which was situated just to the right of it. Just as most rooms in the hospital, the bed was occupied by a patient.

It was that very patient that made this room unique to the rest. The patient in question did not have any sort of unusual condition, and his medical history was good as well. However this room, unlike the rest, was the only one claiming host to the resident senior surgeon – Dr. Robert Hoffman.

Despite this, the room did not boast. It remained quite and well behaved, even though it had received direct attention from Director Allan Karston. There were other visitors, of course. Surgical staff would stop by as well as nurses and one young, enthusiastic volunteer. Today, a well respected politician sat patiently within, but still the room was silent and drew in only the chirps of birds.

Of course, that changed with nothing more than a soft groan from the sun washed bed.

"Robert? Can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes to answer the voice and winced slightly at the light. "Richard?" he muttered groggily. His vision was unable to clearly identify the figure at his bedside, but the voice of his college friend was unmistakable. "Yes, it's me, Robert. How are you feeling?"

". . I . . ." he slurred, trying futilely to blink the drowsiness from his eyes. "I'm dizzy . . . what happened?" His vision cleared just enough for him to see his friend's uncomfortable expression. Richard's mouth was tight and his eyes were diverted, prompting a sick feeling in his stomach. "You collapsed in the middle of surgery. The patient . . . didn't make it."

"The patient . . ." Robert muttered witlessly as he reached through the twisting images in his mind. The pictures were abstract, dancing about as if to purposely confuse him, and he could have sworn he had merely dreamed them up. That ended with a sudden jolt as one image cut through the rest. There he saw it, a pair of lovely eyes, pleading to him.

"Ellen!"

Robert struggled to push himself into a sitting position but found himself failed by his shaking arms. "Robert, don't strain yourself." Richard placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him still, but flinched when he grabbed his wrist. "Michelle! Where is Michelle?" he gasped.

"She's at your sister in law's." Richard kept his voice level so as to keep his friend's irate mood from escalating. He was about to explain further when a dark mutter cut him off.

"Get her."

"Excuse me?"

"Dammit, Richard! I need to see my daughter!" Robert growled, finding the strength to push himself up. "I need to make sure she's okay! I need . . . . I . . .oh God . ." He let out an agonized hiss through clenched teeth. His hands shook violently as he gripped the sheets and he closed his eyes tightly, bowing his head. A quick and heavy gasp was taken in by his body, but he held onto it, even as the tiniest hint of water squeezed from his eyes. "Ellen . . ." he said with a pained hiccup. "I . . .told her . . . everything . ."

"Robert," Richard placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Please don't torture yourself. I'm here, to support you."

"Richard . . . p-please, leave me." He gasped between his restrained sobs. "I'm glad you're here but . . I . . right now . . I need to be alone."

Richard responded with a small squeeze of his shoulder. "I'll pick up Michelle." He whispered, slowly walking away from the bedside. Robert listened to the deafening footsteps in the tense room as he clenched his entire form as hard as he could. After what had felt like eternity, the door clicked close and his emotional dam broke.

Room 221 of Hope Hospital was not much different from the others. Several rooms had seen host to grieving families and friends, weeping as a loved one passes on. Some tears belonged to the patients themselves, crying in response to physical pain or a sense of hopelessness. Tears of joy were occasionally spilt as well, whether in celebration of a new birth or a loved one's recovery, but those were easily lost in the vast ocean of sorrow. Salt stained sheets and tiny puddles were witnessed in all room, the reasons differing, but all were as similar as the mahogany tiles the fallen tears would stain.

Room 221 of Hope Hospital was not different from the other rooms at all and, Dr. Robert Hoffman, was just a man.

----

Derek sat silent and stiffly, his mind churning over the story of Dr. Hoffman's past. For the moment, he could not even bring himself to look at the elderly surgeon. "Dr. Hoffman . . . I . . . I'm sorry . ."

"It's in the past. Nothing can be done about it now." Hoffman said, his voice strained only slightly. "However, we can still keep history from repeating itself."

There was a break of thick quiet between the two; Derek finding that speaking was next to impossible while Hoffman attempted to recompose himself. The former went over the tale again in his mind and compared it to his dreams. He shuddered inwardly, feeling almost as if he were there, twenty years in the past and witnessing a woman's spirit reach out desperately from her failing body. _Is this what's happening to me? Am I going to loose control of my powers?_

"The Healing Touch took advantage of my uncertainty." Hoffman said just then, startling him out of his thoughts. "Or, perhaps it was my confidence in believing I had it under control. You must be careful, Derek. These powers are ancient. There is still so much we don't know about them."

"I think I understand, but what can I do? How can I keep my powers under control?" Derek asked as he met Hoffman's gaze.

"The Healing Touch is different for every person who has it, so you'll have to find that out yourself, but these are _your _powers, Dr. Stiles. Remember that."

". . . I understand."

"Why don't you take a break? Take some time to reflect, if you will?"

Derek blinked, sitting up slightly. "Outside, in the fresh air." Hoffman continued. "You just might find your answer there."

"Right . . time to reflect . . . I may do that." Derek mumbled. "Thank you, Dr. Hoffman."

"Good luck, Derek."

The young surgeon gave him a small nod before standing to leave. The same tension from that day, twenty years ago, whispered from the back of his mind as slow footsteps faded away from his desk. The door clicked closed, and Hoffman let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

-----

To Be Continued . . .

Derek: (goes back in the office) Hey, wait a second! How can you remember other people's conversations if you weren't there?

Hoffman: Uh . . . well . . . uh . . .we need to go to Ikea!

Derek: Wait, what?

Hoffman: Shut up and get in the car!

Derek: But . . .

Hoffman: Don't question me I'm your boss! (thwack)

Derek: Gah!

A/N: I know that technically, Mary and Greg shouldn't have been there at the time. The accident happened 20 prior to the start of the game and by this point Greg would have only been 15, so he certainly couldn't have been working as a surgeon or even an intern. However, Greg seems to have known a lot about the incident that happened to Hoffman so it seems like he had to have been there. Since he was too young to be a doctor, I had him be a volunteer until he completed med school.

As for Mary, when she leaves it is stated that she worked at Hope for 18 years, but she said before she left that she had hoped to see Hoffman in action more often. That suggests that she had to have seen him operate at least once to want to see him in action more often, rather than at all. So in her case, let's just say there was a . . . time warp . . . thing . . . involved.


	5. Inner Darkness

Paying the Price

Chapter Five: Inner Darkness

Thin clouds stretched over Angeles Bay, casting a fluffy and grey canopy over the city. Tyler looked out from his office window as he made copies of his report and took note of a slight pick up in the wind. He would have thought that a storm was coming in, had the clouds not looked apologetic as they brushed the sky.

"It really got cloudy all of a sudden." came a voice from his open door. He turned away from the window, greeting his familiar visitor a surprised grin. "Hey, Angie, I thought you were in surgery."

"I was, but I had to leave the room." She raised her right hand, exposing her bandaged palm to him. "I accidentally cut myself when I was assisting Dr. Clarks and,"

"They kicked you out?" he finished.

"Pretty much. I was wondering; have you seen Dr. Stiles?"

Tyler arched an eyebrow at her and she explained. "He was supposed to handle the procedure and he never showed up for the briefing. I tried to look for him after I was excused, but I can't find him anywhere. I even tried calling him over the headset, but he's turned his off." Tyler frowned at that.

"Last I saw, he was heading off to take a nap. I take it you already checked the on call room?" Angie nodded and Tyler frowned even more so. "Let's go look for him."

------

The wind brushed through Derek's hair as he stepped onto the rooftop. The grey tinted sky was the first thing he noticed, and he cast a perplexed look at the endless overcast. "That's weird. There wasn't a cloud in the sky this morning." He said, taking a step towards the edge. He leaned into the railing and watched the active city in the distance.

"All right, time to reflect." He took a deep breath, tasting the lightly moistened air. "Let's see . . . focus." He closed his eyes and began carving the star shape in his mind. The five lines connected and he tightened his grip on the railing, feeling his body accelerate as the star flashed in his vision. A familiar grey world met him as he opened his eyes again. He kept his body tense as he looked over the railing, watching the cars and pedestrians below crawl at a worm's pace. "Okay . . . let go." Derek whispered to himself. He relaxed his body and mind, feeling the Healing Touch evaporate from him and his world returned to color and normal speed.

Derek blinked rapidly in response to the sudden transition and he took in a few deep breaths. Slowly, he released his grip on the railing and turned his palms towards him. He continued to blink as he stared at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. "So far, so good." He murmured. He opened his fingers one more time before clenching both hands into tight fists. He narrowed his eyes and returned his stare to the outstretched city. "All right, here goes!" His fists dropped to his sides as he clenched his eyes shut, mentally drawing the star.

It ripped through his mind, once again slowing his surroundings and robbing them of color. He held onto the Healing Touch longer that time around before releasing it. His heart skipped mildly in response to the strain, but he did not take a second to rest. Again, he stiffened his form and called forth his powers. Sweat began to dot his forehead lightly as he forced himself to hold out even longer. Even as he began to struggle to keep his ability under his control, it continued to heed him, deactivating only when he relaxed.

Derek winced as a headache began to pulse his temples and his body greedily took in a large gasp. He rewarded his overworked body with a few seconds of deep breathing, but he refused to stop. "Hang in there. . ." he gasped, sweat sliding down his brow as he called upon the Healing Touch once more. Though his eyes narrowed and teeth grit from the intense focus and energy required, he once again commanded his powers perfectly. An involuntary grunt escaped him as he surpassed the duration of his last attempts, but his power remained loyal. His body, on the other hand, trembled in protest. He forced himself to hold out for just a little longer, though he knew he would spend the next few days sleeping if he did not heed his body's cry. "Just one more . . ." he hissed and took in a slow breath. ". . .Okay."

Derek released the Healing Touch and gasped as the world crashed in on him. The roofing under his feet tilted sharply as his head spun. Stumbling back, he managed to regain his balance as he pressed a hand to his dizzy forehead. He made his way to the roof's door and leaned into its support, waiting for the world to steady itself. When it finally did, he slid down the door and collapsed into a sit, holding his now pounding head. "Uhhhhg . . . . no more Healing Touch."

He took in a few deep breaths, hoping the fresh air would help ease his headache, as he rested his elbows on his knees. His powers were still firmly under his command, much to his relief. _But for how long?_

Crossing his arms over his knees, he tilted his head back towards the sky. "Maybe I'm going about this all wrong." He murmured to himself. His thoughts ran freely as he looked aimlessly into the grey overcast. "I don't even understand _why_ I have this ability. So they say I'm a descendant of Asclepius, but . . ."

Derek cut himself off. His head snapped forward from his dazed stare at the sky and his body went rigid. "Does this mean that Dr. Hoffman and I are related?" The words twisted his mouth into an uneasy frown as his eyes blinked slowly. It was not so much that he would mind having Hoffman as a distant family member. However, the prospect of suddenly discovering that the elderly surgeon and his current boss was also a long lost uncle or grandfather was . . .

" . . . too weird to think about." Derek sighed and forced the thought from his mind.

He returned his glance to the sky and his mind to his musings. "I don't even know where to start." he groaned, slightly aggravated.

"_These powers are ancient. There is still so much we don't know about them."_

Derek closed his eyes, focusing lightly on the wind and gentle hum of traffic in the distance. The thoughts that had churned his mind began to calm to a gentle swirl as Hoffman's voice mumbled in the back of his mind. "Time to reflect . . . you just might find your answer." He whispered allowed, blinking his eyes open. "Hmmm, I wonder . . ."

He carefully rose to his feet, leaning a hand on the door for support. He took a few brief minutes to stretch his legs, when they no longer threatened to collapse underneath him, and went back to the edge of the roof. "Let's see. How should I do this?" he muttered as his fingers drummed the railing. Slowly, his hands slid from the rail and dangled easily at his sides. "Relax . . ." he closed his eyes. ". . and concentrate." He gave himself a mental nudge, trying to avoid the usual strain that occurred when using the Healing Touch. He felt nothing at first, but continued to gently push his mind. Several minutes later, he still felt nothing, and he had to keep from straining himself. "Take it easy . . . and focus."

Finally, he felt something begin to trickle in the back of his mind. "Relax . . . and concentrate." He gently coaxed a star shape into his vision. "Concentrate . . ." A blue line appeared and slowly traced the familiar image. In his mind, he could almost feel the Healing Touch taking form. It flowed like water being poured into an engraved crevice, filling him with a slightly serene feeling. For once, his body did not feel strained by his ability. He stared in awe at the image before him, so familiar in shape, but different in its presentation.

_I've never used it like this before. This is . . ._

He took in a breath as light from within the large star rippled and danced through its turquoise form. He could still feel his hair and clothes being ruffled against his body, but the wind that had been the previous culprit had since vanished. The cityscape Derek had been watching followed suit and he now found himself in pure darkness, save for the illuminated star before him. He slowly reached to touch it.

Derek's hand jerked back slightly, just before his fingers brushed against the star's surface. He felt his heart begin to pound, though it was not so much fear or anxiety that had prompted it. He was excited. For what reason, he had not the foggiest. He scrutinized the shape cautiously before slowly moving his hand towards it. When it made no erratic movements in protest, he took the star's calm demeanor as consent to touch it.

A pleasant coolness seeped through his arm as circular ripples stretched from where his fingers contacted. He submerged his entire hand, feeling the silky texture of water against his skin, but strangely, his hand did not feel wet. When he withdrew his hand, a stream of blue followed his fingers and shifted into shapeless bubbles. Derek blinked as he watched the floating blobs. He looked at his hand and saw not a single drop of water.

"This is incredible." He whispered. He continued looking at his palm, curling and uncurling his fingers as he had before. Serenity washed over him and, though he had yet to decipher what exactly he was witnessing, his mind was not troubled. He continued flexing his hand unconsciously as his eyes drifted to the aqua light reflecting at his feet and he sighed a fragile breath, before a gasp ripped his serene expression apart.

As he closed his hand, he felt his fingers squeeze against a thick, warm puddle in his palm. Dark red trickled down his wrist and from between his fingers. His trembling fingers uncurled, revealing a thick coat of blood covering his entire hand just as he felt heavy droplets fall from his other. He quickly brought both hands before him, his mouth parting into a petite gape of horror. His widened eyes were not surprised to be greeted by his shaking and blood drenched palms, but they were disgusted all the same. "Not again . . ." he choked. "Please . . . God . . .not again!"

A shadow began to spread in the light cast from the star. Derek looked up as the turquoise light, that had safely drenched him, turned to the same dark shade in his hands. "No . . ." He took a shaky step back, watching the thick red begin to swirl from where he had touched the star and engulf the pleasant sea blue. The ripples in the shape began to churn violently, causing the blood to spread faster and Derek's stomach to twist just as fiercely. "Why is this happening?"

Piercing screeches filled the air and his perturbed innards jumped in protest. His bloody hands flew to his temples as he tried to block out the horrid sound, his eyes and teeth clenched shut. The screeches slowly dissolved into a single sound, coming straight at him from ahead. He opened his eyes and let out a startled noise as they locked with two blood red orbs. Those eyes belonged to that damned crow.

It hurtled towards him and Derek had only enough time to lean back, letting it pass over him but loosing his balance. He flailed his arms slightly, hoping to catch himself before his backside smashed against the concrete. Instead, he felt his heels tip off the ground and found himself plummeting head first into the darkness.

He screamed, just as anyone helplessly falling into a black abyss would.

His arms continued to flail in futility until a roar engulfed his desperate yells. The sounds of the ocean's waves put an end to his scream as he titled his head back to see just what he was falling towards. True to the sound, a dark sea churned below him, and he quickly brought his arms up to shield himself.

A loud splash roared around him as he crashed through the ocean and his body was overrun by a terrible chill. The breakthrough of the ocean's skin was surprisingly painless. He felt the freezing water descended upon him, but his hair and clothes remained dry, his breathing rhythmic and comfortable. He wrapped his arms around his body and shivered violently. "What is this?" Derek said through chattering teeth.

A piercing red light struck out through the darkness and forced Derek to shut his eyes. He turned his head and opened them slightly to adjust his vision. Squinting, he turned to face the cause of the light. "You!"

"_So nice to see you again, Dr. Stiles."_

Adam floated cross legged just before him, his form haloed by a red aura from a back light. A sinister yet divine smirk gently whispered against his gaunt face. His long dead and dry hair shifted as much as it could in the churning waters. The mere sight of the decaying body caused anger and disgust to erupt within Derek. "What do you want with me?! Why won't you leave me alone?!" He roared.

Adam's lifeless eyes blinked slowly. _"Isn't it obvious, Dr. Stiles? I am here to free humanity from modern medicine and to save the world from human arrogance."_

"Arrogance?" Derek spat. "Is it arrogant to want to live?"

"_When one's life selfishly drains the life force of the planet, as if it were more important than anything else, then yes. People today believe their lives to be more important than the environment they depend upon. They take from nature. They take from animals. They take from one another for the sake of filling their meaningless lives with material possessions and power. For this, they reward the planet by breeding more like them."_

"Then we'll change! Even if what you're saying is true, humanity doesn't have to just take from the earth."

"_People may have the capacity to change, but they won't. Their arrogance and greed prevents them from doing so. Even the most minor of inconveniences, for the sake of the earth, is too much to ask of them. You, and those like you, are only supporting their greed and their meaningless lives. The only path to the salvation of this earth lies through me."_

"Death isn't the answer! I will never accept other people's deaths as an answer to society's problems!"

"_Your arrogance is the worst of all. You try to do away with natural selection. You try to save those that nature condemned to death. You think yourself superior to the natural order. But fret not. You will see the path to salvation soon enough. I have blessed you with this gift. You will soon abandon your selfish ways and join me."_

"You're the one who's selfish! You don't care who you hurt! You think you're some kind of god, don't you? Judging who lives and dies . . . that's _your_ arrogance!"

"_Yet, you do this every day. You take death away from humans and force them to live."_

Derek growled and narrowed his eyes. "You . . ." The feeling of something cold and slimy wrapping around his wrist cut him off. Gaping, he looked at his right hand to see a gelatinous tentacle squeezing his arm. "What the . . ." His left arm was struck and his wrist was pulled to the side of his body. The one on the right followed suit and another tentacle appeared, wrapping around his chest and holding his arms down. "What's going on?" Derek sputtered as Tyler's voice from their college years spoke in his mind.

"_**Hey Derek!" Tyler held up an anime DVD. "You know what happens to school girls in Japanese cartoons?"**_

"Gaaah! No! Let me go!"

Struggling frantically against the tentacles' hold, Derek did not notice Adam approaching him until he felt the dead fingers brush against his cheek. He growled and moved to kick the corpse square in the ribs, but more slimy arms appeared and grabbed his ankles. "No!"

"_You will find Bliss soon enough. You will indulge in the taste of death; the true way of humanity. You will wash away your own sins with their blood."_

Derek let out a whimper as Adam cupped his chin, titling his head up and forcing him to look in his bottomless eyes.

"_A new prophecy is on the horizon. Those who seek death will find it. Humanity will be free of your deceitful medicine and it all starts with you, Dr. Stiles. Finally, you will be a __**true**__ prophet!"_

-----

Derek's eyes snapped open. Thunder rumbled in the dark, swirling clouds that greeted him. He sat up quickly, finding himself back on the rooftop of Caduceus. He tried to calm his erratic breath but the violent change in weather was doing everything but helping him. Another roar descended upon him from the ominous sky and he pushed his trembling body to his feet. "Get out of my head, you bastard!" he growled, clutching his hair. "Get out!"

A shadowy figure slithered in the corner of his vision. Derek whipped around, but found nothing. Anger and fear grappled one another inside of him, and his lungs took heavy gasps to support their struggle. "Leave me alone. . ." he hissed before his voice escalated to a screech. "Get out of my head and leave me alone!"

Violent thunder and lightning responded to him. The bolt's light slashed through the darkened rooftop, taking away the safe haven darkness provided. All shadows were gone, save but one, which glared at him. Derek fled inside as the darkness returned and another roar from the sky fell upon him.

-----

A/N: Okay people, that was it! That was the last dream sequence in this story – just as I promised in _Necrophobia_. No more cop outs. No more of Derek cheaply getting out of a dangerous or creepy situation.

For those of you living in the United States, I hope you all have a happy and safe Forth of July. Enjoy those fireworks and charbroiled burgers! For those of you outside of the US, have a nice day as well. And hey, go ahead and have a charbroiled burger, even if there are no fireworks to watch.

Yeah, I had to include the horrible thing that happens to Japanese school girls in anime whenever there are tentacles around. Poor Derek . . .

Sorry the chapter took so long. I've been bogged down with school work. Bleh . . .

I hope you enjoyed it, though!


	6. Calm before the Storm

Paying the Price

Chapter 6: Calm before the Storm

Derek brushed his fingers through his bangs, pushing them back from his eyes and wiping the sweat from his forehead. After taking shelter from the storm, he made a beeline for the nearest men's room. He was fortunate enough to get there without anyone seeing how badly he trembled. Even without looking in the mirror, he could feel how pale he had become, and he knew he would be answer more than a few questions if one of his colleagues saw him like that.

He took a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under a gentle stream of cool water. Setting his glasses on the counter, he dabbed at his face and washed away the thin layer of sweat. He let out a sigh as he ran the towel over his temple before frustration grabbed him and contorted his features.

"This is ridiculous! A grown man shouldn't be jumping at his own shadow!" he growled in aggravation. "C'mon Derek! Get a grip! What would Cybil say if she saw you like this?"

He crumpled up the damp towel and carelessly threw it at a waste basket, not caring whether it went in or not. He picked up his glasses and slid them back on, glaring up at his reflection coolly as the excess water cascaded down his face. "No more cowering; be a man and face your fears!" he barked darkly, almost threateningly, to himself as he dared his reflection to defy him. "And for Pete's sake, stop jumping at every little . ."

"Dr. Stiles! I know you're in there!"

"Gaaaaaaah!"

The loud voice and pounding on the door were not exactly doing wonders for Derek's jangled nerves.

"Angie, please don't do that again. It's bad for my heart." he called at the door as he placed a hand over his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She replied instantly with a hint of self berating on her breath. Derek continued to look at the door as he nursed his poor, overworked heart. He worked the rigid sounds of her voice over in his head as he turned back towards the mirror, sighing at his appearance. Though faded, a sallow white still washed over his naturally tan complexion, and his unruly hair did nothing for it. He ran his fingers through his locks while taking in several deep breaths, hoping to circulate the blood back to his face.

"Please come out here. I want to talk to you." Angie called again, her voice soft this time, but still tracing the rigid beats it had earlier. "I'll be out in a second." Derek replied, grunting quietly as his hair refused to cooperate. He decided to leave it to its business; his hair was known for being defiantly messy no matter what he tried. He took a quick second to get himself back into sorts, taking another paper towel to dry his face and thankfully noting that his color had returned. He pushed open the door and saw Angie waiting for him, looking absolutely beside herself. Her voice had not belied her expression.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently.

"What's the matter?!" Her eyebrows lifted as she spoke. "I've been looking for you for hours! Why didn't you show up for this morning's procedure?"

She looked up at him with an all but contorted face. Her eyes were narrowed slightly in a glare, but her brows were curved upward and her mouth had sunk into an unsettled frown. Derek diverted his eyes away from the girl, feeling completely responsible for her unease. She deserved to know the truth, but he feared it would only aggravate her worries. Odd knows that it certainly was not doing any wonders for him. "Please, Derek." She choked slightly. This was killing him.

"I don't want to upset you, but I guess I've already done that, haven't I?"

"Derek . . ."

"Angie, remember when I said I had some . . . 'things', going on this morning?"

She gave him a somber nod. Derek closed his eyes and forced himself to continue. "Well, as it turns out . . . it's a bit of a bigger problem than I let on." She remained silent, her eyes no longer narrowed as they echoed the concerned brows above them. Derek opened his eyes and met hers. "Angie, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Adam . . . what was he?"

She blinked in response as her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Adam?"

"Yes, what do you think he was?"

"I . . . don't know. I never really thought about it." Angie broke their gaze, her eyes wandering in search of an answer. Derek watched her in silence, but he did not have to wait long before her shoulders tensed, her eyes focused, and her expression becoming firm. "A monster." She mumbled bitterly. "He was a monster."

"I couldn't agree more." Derek sighed. Her tense expression relaxed and melted away, revealing a more sorrowful look than before. Derek cursed himself inwardly as she looked back up at him. "Why are you asking me about him?" she asked on a wavering breath.

"Lately . . . I've been having these dreams. Nightmares." Derek's voice mimicked her quivering as he forced himself to speak before hesitation could set in. It still managed to grab hold of them, forcing the two to several moments of silence, before Angie's voice fluttered it away. "I know . . . Adam . . . gave me nightmares too."

"You too?" Derek said, surprised. She nodded slowly and looked away, raising her right hand to her face. Her hand balled into a gentle fist, and the knuckle of her index finger found its way to her lips, pressing against them gently. "All the horrible things he did." She murmured. "What he did to those children . . . blackmailing my father . . . a child . . . dying in my place." The last statement came out as a hushed whisper, but it still made Derek cringe, as though it had been ear splitting.

"Angie . . ."

"He still haunts me, every now and then." She bowed her head slightly, still looking away from him. He copied her actions, starring down at his shoes and taking a deep breath.

"I understand." He lifted his head to look at her again. "Lately, he seems to torment me every time I close my eyes."

She blinked as she looked back at him, lifting her head slightly. "What are your dreams about?"

"People dying . . . you dying . . ." her eyes widened at that. " . . . there's blood. A _lot_ of blood . . . and I . . . I'm covered in it, but that's not the worst part."

Derek took another involuntary pause as he struggled to speak, but Angie made no interruptions.

"He says that he's "blessed" me, that I'm going to spread death everywhere I go." His throat clenched up, as if he were fighting down bile, but he continued with a strained voice. "And in my dreams, that's exactly what I'm doing."

Angie drank in his words with a sharp, silent breath. Her eyes flickered away from Derek, who patiently awaited her response in spite of the apprehension that hung in the air. "Are you afraid?" She asked, pursing her lips instantly afterward. Her eyes remained studied on a far wall as Derek opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it when her eyes returned to him. "Is that why you've been so nervous today?"

"Yes." Derek muttered. "It's stupid, I know . . ."

"No it isn't." Angie's response was swift and sharp. "I think . . . I'd be afraid too, but _you_ shouldn't be scared, you know?"

Derek imagined he must have looked as confused as he felt, because she gave him a tiny smile and a bit of the worry that fogged her eyes cleared. She closed the space between them and brought her right hand to his face, gently pushing against the bridge of his glasses with her index finger. "Derek, you're one of the bravest men I know. You'll never become a monster like him."  
He smiled. It amazed him how a few simple words could be so reassuring, her faith in him never wavering. "Hey! What happened to your hand?"

Angie pulled her hand back from his face, already knowing what he was referring to. "Oh, this?" she motioned towards the bandage that wrapped around it. "It's my fault. I was careless when assisting Dr. Clarks this morning."

"The procedure!?" Derek gaped. "Then, you might be . . ."

"I'm not infected. Chief Kasal made me get screened for it after I was excused. I cleaned and bandaged it myself; it's okay."

"That's a relief . . .I ."

_"Angie! Did you find Stiles yet!?" _

"Ow! Hey, there's no need to yell!" Angie hissed, pulling her headset off. Derek grimaced slightly, having heard the voice loud and clear from her headset, it must have hurt. _"Did you find him!?"_ the speaker continued, not heeding her plea to lower his voice. Angie held her headphones out at arms length and scowled at them. "Yes, I found him. Please stop yelling, Dr. Niguel." She said loudly so as the microphone could pick her voice up.

_"What? I can't hear you." _Obviously, it had not. _"Look, if you haven't found Dr. Stiles, you need to hurry and do it! This is an emergency!" _

"I'm here, Victor. We hear you loud and clear, so no more yelling, okay?" Derek said, having turned on his headset.

_"Whatever. Look, you need to get to the surgical ward immediately. Mr. Kovar is fading fast and all the other surgeons are busy." _

Their feet reacted before they could process what was just said and they found themselves running down the hall. "Mr. Kovar? Did something happen during this morning's procedure?" Derek looked over at Angie. She shook her head as they ran towards the stairs, not wanting to put their faith in the speed of an elevator. _"No, the treatment went as planned, but the infection is on the move. It made its way to his heart."_

"What!?" They both exclaimed, wincing as their voices echoed loudly in the stairwell.

_"It's trying to take host there. I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if it does." _

"So it hasn't actually settled yet? We can still save him?"

_"Yes, but we're running out of time. We need you to remove it, NOW!" _

A pair of doctors out on rounds had their freshly brewed coffee scared out of their hands when Derek and Angie slammed through the stairwell door. "Sorry! Emergency!" he called back to them as they scowled, but they pressed onward, all but propelling themselves towards the surgical ward. They slowed their pace as they entered, meeting the somewhat relieved expression of Victor. Derek dove into the sterile sink, scrubbing down as quickly as possible as Angie readied a clean set of equipment. "It's on the front surface of his left ventricle." Victor said. "I'll explain how to remove it once you open him up . . . what do you think you're doing, Thompson?"

Derek looked over at Angie, who had finished sanitizing her hands and was about to slip on a surgical mask. "I'm scrubbing in, Doctor." She said. Victor shook his head, grasping her wrist and raising her bandaged right hand. "Were you listening to the Chief's orders? You're not going in there. I'll assist Dr. Stiles." Angie stiffened slightly. She looked away, a perturbed grimace squeezed her eyes into slits, but she made no protest. "I understand, Dr. Niguel." She said flatly, marching stiffly past him. She glanced over her shoulder as she passed Derek. "I'll be watching from the observation deck. I know you can do it." He looked at her, meeting her smile with his own. "Just remember what I said, okay? Good luck, Dr. Stiles."

"Thank you, Angie."

Angie excused herself, somewhat reluctantly, regarding both men before closing the door behind her. "All right, Derek. We don't have much time." Victor said, scrubbing in himself. "Anesthesia's been administered. Go in there and open his chest. I'll be right behind you."

"Understood."

Derek donned his surgical mask and snapped on his gloves. He took a deep breath as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, finding the patient fully sedated and a set of surgical tools ready for him. He heard light footsteps just above and behind him. He turned, looking up at the short row of windows above the operating room entrance. Angie approached the blue tinted glass, her warm expression from before replaced by her serious game face. Their eyes locked, narrowed and severe, as they gave a synchronized nod. "Right, I'm starting the operation."

-----

A/N: I had to include Derek's catchphrase somewhere, didn't I?

Now, ladies and gentlemen, the intense battle between good and evil is about to begin! This is _no _dream, people! Grab a beer (or non-alcoholic beverage of choice), grande burrito and front row seat because this is gonna be a battle royal! Next time: Derek vs Adam! Heaven or Hell?! Duel 1! Let's Rock!


	7. Devil’s Blood

A/N: Okay, okay . . . fine! _Everyone's _running around, screaming "Let's Rock!" but no one's mentioned the Guilty Gear X2 reference? Well, I think Alexa got it, but no one else did.

Sheesh, first with the mudfights and now with the "Let's Rock!" . . . what have I started? I kinda like it though. It should be the new Trauma Center fan catchphrase and TCGeek has done a pretty good job of implementing it.

So without further ado . . . (and you know it _has_ to be said) . . .

**_Heaven or Hell! Duel 1! Let's Rock! _**

Paying the Price

Chapter 7: Devil's Blood

Derek quickly laid a layer of antibiotic gel on the man's chest, following it with a quick and accurate cut from the scalpel. He clamped the incision and sawed through the sternum, stepping back a bit as the ribcage swung open and revealed a greenish yellow blotch on the beating heart. The hinges of the double doors behind him squeaked as they were pushed open. He took only a quick glance back and saw Victor, fitted with a pair of gloves and a surgical mask, enter the room. "That's it, Dr. Stiles." He joined the surgeon at the operating table and curtly nodded at the infection. "We need to keep it from infesting the inner membrane. Take this," he handed him a tray with a carbon membrane. "and cut a slit in the tissue. We're going to try and put this under the infestation to keep it from spreading."

"How deep in his heart is it?" Derek asked as he took a pair of forceps into hand.

"Not sure, probably on the second layer. Whatever you do, don't puncture it. If you do, he's a goner."

"Got it."

Derek carefully pinched a section of the tissue and pulled it up. He sliced it quickly, placing the scalpel back on the tray and reaching for another pair of forceps. He grabbed the membrane from the tray and pried the cut open with the other pair, sliding the patch into place. He repeated the process on the other side of the infection, pulling the membrane from the other side and situating it. "That should do. Use the gel to seal it into place." Derek did just that and the two of them took a breath.

"I think that bought us some time." Victor said. "We've got it contained, more or less. You should just be able to remove it."

Derek carefully moved the tip of the scalpel towards the area. It was small, which may have been a blessing had it not required such precision to move. His other hand took control of the forceps, holding the tissue in place as he slowly began to cut away. He narrowed his eyes, thinking of nothing but how his scalpel severed the muscle, pulling it away from its host organ, watching a drop of black tar running down the knife's edge . . . "What the hell?!" Derek sputtered. As quickly as he saw it, the drop was gone, either vanished into thin air or . . .

"What's the matter?" Victor asked, but was interrupted by the screeching sensors. Derek quickly pulled the scalpel away as the pulsating organ beat erratically. "He's going into ventricle fibrillation!"

"I got it!" Victor said, powering up the defibrillator. "Three, two, one, clear!"

The initial shock put the heart back on a steady beat. Both doctors let out a sigh. "Dammit, this is not good." Victor cursed. "He must be going into shock. Get that thing out of him, now!" Derek nodded on pure reflex, Victor's words somewhat deaf to him. He felt panic start to boil in his stomach and he swallowed to keep it down. A tremor shook his hands and he tensed them as he moved back in with the scalpel and forceps. _Did I really see that? _He trembled internally as he began excising the infected area, moving as quickly as possible.

_"No matter how much you try, you cannot overcome the power of death." _

He took in a sharp breath and his body locked up. "What's wrong?" He heard Victor ask, cutting through the whisper in his brain. Derek was thankful for his surgical mask, as he was certain he would see his lips quivering without it. He pursed them and tried to suppress the irate twitching of his lungs before his breathing caught his attention. "N. . .nothing. It's nothing." He forced his body back under his control before Victor had the chance to yell at him. His grip on the scalpel tensed to nearly a death hold as he made another small cut.

While that may have been enough to throw off any suspicions Victor had, it would take much more than that to fool the green eyes watching the two of them. "Something's not right." Angie whispered to herself. Her eyes narrowed as she placed a hand on the double glass, scrutinizing the surgeon she looked up to. "Derek . . ."

"_I have given you the gift of Bliss. Indeed, you have been blessed with the gift of death itself." _

Derek flinched. _I'm not hearing this. _

"Dammit! It's happening again!" Victor's yell startled him and he quickly pulled his hands out of the patient. He stepped back as Victor moved in with the defibrillator. "Three, two, one, clear!"

The erratic screams of the heart monitor merged into a single note.

_"Accept the gifts that you have been given." _

"Cardiac arrest! Stiles, do it!"

Derek spread gel over the heart and began massaging it while doing everything he could to ignore the haunting voice.

_"You cannot deny death or the powers within you." _

The heart beat resumed, but the patient's vitals plummeted. "Dammit! The infection's settling! I'll inject a neutralizer and you finish cutting that bastard out!" Derek attempted to respond but sickness gripped him and restrained his body. The fear that had boiled in his stomach turned cold. Black liquid dripped down his fingers.

_"You have no choice." _

He hated having nightmares, but he would give anything – _anything_ – to wake up, shivering and covered in sweat. This could not really be happening. It had to be another dream. He bit his tongue hard until he tasted blood. His mouth swelled with the putrid metallic flavor . . . but he found . . . he did not feel sick from it . . . it tasted . . . sweet.

_"From this day forth, you will bathe in blood. You will indulge in the taste of death." _

"No, no! You're wrong!" Derek growled, blood trickling from his lips as he spoke.

_"You will deliver this Bliss onto the world. That will be your prophecy." _

"You're wrong!"

A star tore through his vision, blinding him as it cast its blue light and forcing him to close his eyes. Another one slashed through his brain and left his forehead burning. Gravity tugged at his back and he jerked his shoulders forward, pitching himself into a dizzy sway. He felt for his center and wrapped his torso around it, teetering as his footing was regained. Opening his eyes, he found that his surroundings were frozen, but not the grey scale that he had grown used to. The colors were dulled by an overcast of blue but retained their given shade. Everything around him blurred, swirling into dancing figments. The only thing not affected was the incision he had been operating on and a pair of red eyes, piercing out from the shadows across the room. Derek's own eyes widened and he took a step back.

"No, this isn't happening."

"Don't you ever have anything new to say?" Derek heard his own acidic voice slither from the darkness. His sinister doppelganger emerged slightly, the shadows trickling off his form.

"You!" He took another step back. "You're . . . you . ."

"You may call me Didymus, if you must. I don't really have a name, per se, but that has a bit of nicer ring than 'You', don't you think?" He laughed and placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly. "Well, what are you going to do now, Dr. Stiles? Sure, you may have stopped time, but you're only delaying the inevitable."

Derek took in a gulp and looked at the patient's grim vitals. They had locked through the activation of the Healing Touch, but that was of little comfort. If anything, it only accented the nature of the situation. The patient's life force was being drained as if caught in a downward spiral and, had Derek's powers not kicked in when they did, it would have been too late. Mr. Kovar was just a breath away from death.

"Please . . . not again . . ." he whispered, shaken by just how close a call it had been.

"See? There you go again, repeating the same old tired pleas." Didymus sighed. "You're getting kind of boring."

Derek paid him no mind as he tried to quell his trembling. It was not too late. His patient was still alive. He repeated that to himself, taking in several breaths, as he slowly backed into a wall.

"Yes, your patient's still alive." Didymus hissed. "Nevermind the fact that _you're_ the reason he's almost dead."

Derek clenched his eyes shut. _He's still alive . . . he's still alive . . . _

"Open your eyes, Derek. His blood is all over your hands. That's why he's dying. . ."

All at once, he felt the warm liquid cake both his hands. Derek shot up rigidly, opening his eyes and starring at the sickeningly familiar sight of his blood drenched fingers. His hands shook lightly, sprinkling fat droplets onto the floor and his scrubs. The metallic aroma attacked him, coupled with the taste from his tongue bite, and a savage thirst twitched within him. He felt his stomach rumbling hungrily and his injured tongue became parched, longing to lap up the blood until it was caressed by every last drop.

"Gah!"

Derek slammed the back of his head against the wall. "No!" He gritted his teeth and pitched his head forward, slamming it again. Sweat washed the color from his face as he hit his head once more, leaving him heaving for breath and propped limply into the wall. He grabbed onto the pain and disgust he felt, anchoring himself away from the horrid blood lust as a throaty laugh filled the room. "Giving yourself a concussion won't help." Didymus chuckled.

"Shut . . . up . ." Derek gasped, gripping onto the rage he felt. He forced his hands down to his sides, the blood trickled from them as they moved. He could still feel a thirst for blood squirming in his belly and he shoved a tooth into his tongue. The sharp pain jolted him and he tore himself away from the wall, opening his eyes again.

He saw Victor, standing frozen in time next to the operating table. It startled him. He had forgotten that he was not the only one in the room, save for his ruthless dark twin. Yet, the head of R&D was there all the same. It was a rather peculiar pose that he had been locked into. Victor's left hand held onto one of the defibrillator paddles he had been using, while his right had traded its mate in for a syringe. Had the situation been different, Derek may have even found the confounded look in his eyes amusing. Despite the confusion, Victor had been standing his ground and doing what had to be done. He reminded him of Angie; working hard by his side to save a patient. "Angie . . ." her name was a welcome contrast of warmth, even when fluttering on such broken and scared breath. He could not see her from his position, but she was there all the same, watching over him.

"Angie . . ."

_"Derek, you're one of the bravest men I know. You'll never become a monster like him." _

A soft beat from his heart embraced him internally. Derek felt his courage return to him and through the terror and rage that stormed within, he held one solid thought in his brain. He had to operate and save his patient. Derek looked at his hands as the blood pooled in his palms and overflowed onto his fingers. He growled and clenched them into fists. "If I can remove the infestation, he should be okay." He muttered to himself.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Once again casting away the taunt, Derek walked back to the operating table and let out an aggravated hiss. His tools were covered in the deadly dark venom from before. "This is no good. . ." He sighed, spitting out more droplets of blood in the process. Gathering the utensils, the quickly tackled through the double doors and plunged them into the sterile sink. His surgical mask began to soak with blood and he tore that off, as well as his drenched gloves. He wiped his bloody mouth with his sleeve and donned a clean set of gear, returning to the sink.

To his relief, the tools were clean when he re-emerged them. "They won't stay that way." A cold breath whispered on his ear. He took a skittish step back and found himself locked with his own red tinted eyes. "You stain everything you touch." Didymus murmured again.

"Get away from me."

His dark twin did nothing of the sort, taking a step closer and skimming his hand through the sink. "Your hands are bloodier than I thought." He slowly drew up his crimson fingertips. Derek could no longer smell the cleanliness of the water. It had been completely consumed, leaving the sink to brim with blood and the haunting smell of it to call to him. Didymus brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. "Hm, very rich. Care for some?"

"I said get away from me!" Derek push kicked the doppelganger square in the chest, tackling the OR door with his shoulder and rushing back to Mr. Kovar's side. With clean tools, he reached in again, taking a breath to steady himself. The dark matter was pooling up in the patient's chest. He quickly took the drain and suctioned it out. "Ugh . . . this is bad." Upon draining the chest cavity, he saw several wounds that had been burned into the surrounding organs. The tar had been dissolving them.

"Dammit!" Derek growled and reached for a tray of carbon membranes. He quickly places them over the wounds and grabbed a swath, dipping it in the gel and massaging the patches into the injuries. "Okay, good, I shouldn't have to worry about them hemorrhaging for the moment." He took his scalpel and pinched at the heart tissue with his forceps. "Gotta work fast." he muttered, cutting the area around the infection. He steadied his hand and narrowed his eyes, his grip on the scalpel tightening. He continued cutting slowly as a grumble began to build in his throat. It erupted into a roar, pulling his teeth into a snarl as he lifted the knife and stabbed it into the center of the heart. Savagely, he tore the scalpel down the middle, ripping the organ open, his mouth watering at the blood that sputtered from within.

"No!"

Derek gasped as the sounds of his double's sinister laughs cut through the air. He took a step back from the operating table, breathing heavily, but finding Mr. Kovar's heart in one piece, for the most part. The infestation was still there, as were the small incisions he made to remove it. "What . . . was . .?"

"Just stop fighting it, already." Didymus said, crossing his arms. "Embrace what you have inside. Indulge in death's sweet flavor. You know you want to."

"No . . . No . . ." Derek shook his head, trying to toss out the vision of his hand cutting the man's heart open. It refused to leave him. It bled down the inside of his forehead and imprinting itself on the crevices of his mind. He opened his eyes again to ensure himself it was not real. The patient's heart was still whole, but he could not shake the terror it had given him. "This isn't my mind . . . doing this . . I do _not_ want to watch people die!"

"Oh really?"

Icy breath pricked the back of his neck. "No one made you imagine what you just saw and, whether you like to admit it or not, you felt a twinge of ecstasy at that, didn't you?" Gritting his teeth, Derek spun around, but his doppelganger was nowhere to be found. He quickly scanned the room and found himself alone, save for Victor.

No, there was one other person.

He looked around again to be sure that Didymus was gone for the moment. _Hopefully forever . . ._

There was no sign of him. Derek looked up to the observation deck. Through the blue that filtered his vision, he was just barely able to make her out. Something about her eyes seemed to penetrate straight through, locking with his. Her bandaged hand was pressed against the glass and her hair framed her angelically. He felt a bit of color return to him as he drank in her suspended form. "Keep working . . . you can do this . ." he whispered. His hands still shook as he returned to the operating table. He focused on Angie, holding her outline in his mind just as he did the star shapes. It helped, and he felt a little less like vomiting and passing out.

Derek looked down at the scalpel and forceps he was holding, cursing silently when he found them drizzled with the dark liquid. A frigid bite in his hands stung him as he could feel his skin bleeding out again. The gloves did little; the tar seeped right through them. Placing the tools back on the tray, he grabbed a large amount of gauze and wadded it up in both hands. He quickly wiped his tools clean and returned to the incision, draining the little of the venom there was before it did any damage.

Fortunately, he had gotten to draining just in time. It was removed just before it began to eat away at the organs, but keeping the cavity clear of it was proving to be a futile attempt. Just as constantly as he drained the venom, his hands continued to secrete it, giving him an impossibly small window of time to excise the infection. "I've gotta move faster!" he muttered. He finished draining, but could see the tar begin to slide down his tools again.

Derek closed his eyes, taking a shallow breath as he envisioned Angie in his mind. All the gore and horrors he had witnessed that day were there as well, replaying darkly before him, but they were dulled next to her. She radiated in the foreground, casting the shadows that had been haunting him away. "I can do this . . . I know I can . . ." he murmured. She nodded, her face stoic and serious as it always was when they were in surgery, but her eyes never changed. No matter what emotion they held, they always looked onto him and believed in him. He took a breath, carving another star shape in his mind.

Derek let out a short cry when his legs almost gave out. He tensed his whole body and forced himself to stay together, fighting the sensation of his strength bleeding from him. He took a moment to retain a struggled standing position and felt himself recover his balance. He opened his eyes. The tar was still coming, but slower this time and he grasped this chance to catch up. He injected the stabilizer then grabbed the forceps and scalpel.

A red glow descended upon him and its weightless caress chilled his skin. "How long do you think you can keep this up?" Didymus said. Derek hissed quietly as he glanced up. Sure enough, his evil twin stood on the opposite side of the table. His glare was intense, the red glow from his eyes illuminating sharply against the blue. "As long as I need to." Derek muttered and he returned to his task. He made quick, small cuts as he was unable to still his shaking fingers.

He pushed himself further as the venom began to pool up. He was just about half way done, but as his knife became more difficult to keep under control and nearly punctured the infestation, he knew he would have to abort. He drew out his scalpel and closed his eyes, letting the third star run from his mental grip but held onto the first two. He managed to balance himself through his swaying and was as steady on his feet as he could be once the room settled.

Derek quickly drained the area and pulled out his hands before another drop could fall from his fingers. He glared at the infection, squeezing the wadded gauze in his hands. The liquid trickled from the dampened bandages and he let them slip from his fingers, hearing them join their drippings with a sickening squish. He grabbed his tools and ran back to the other room, knowing well the sink would still be thick with blood.

The smell was quick to call to him and caressed his face seductively. Derek crinkled his nose and bit his lip as he plunged his hand in and pulled out the stopper, letting the murky red water drain out. Withdrawing his hand, which was caked past his elbow, he lunged at the faucet and ran his entire arm under the water before the thirst nibbling at his tongue could attack.

"You're just wasting your energy."

Derek struck out at the voice that whispered in his ear. His fury was turned against him as Didymus grabbed his fist and twisted his arm around, kicking his ankles out from under him in the process. A grunt was purged from Derek's chest as it was dug roughly into the sink's edge. The pressure against his ribs increased as Didymus leaned into him, grabbing his left wrist and forcing his palm an inch from his face.

"Do you see this?" Derek saw dark crimson swirling with the black tar on his hand. "This is _your _doing. Don't you get it, Stiles? From the day you were born, you were cursed with the powers you doctors call the _Healing Touch_." Didymus let out a deep, rattled chuckled. "Healing Touch . . . that's a laugh. Our master has blessed you, given you a path to redemption. Now, your powers can lead the world to salvation and one day, you will return to Adam."

"You're insane . . .!" Derek twitched, trying to gain footing.

"We're not insane. We're simply restoring the natural order . ."

A sickening crack cut Didymus off as Derek gave him a reverse head butt. He slipped for a moment, once his doppelganger's weight was no longer supporting him, but he pulled himself back up with his feet securely planted to the floor. He could hear Didymus cuss behind him and stumble around dazed from the blow. He put his hands under the running water, willing it to clean them off as quickly as possible. He grabbed his tray and cleaned his tools off as well, trading in his stained gloves for a new pair and rushing back to the OR.

Situated at the patient's side again, he picked up his scalpel . . . . and froze. The determination melted from his eyes and his rigid form relaxed. Fixing his gaze on the incision, he slowly set the knife back on the tray.

Derek stared at the heart, his face expressionless. Suddenly, his hand lashed out and squeezed into the organ. His finger tips sizzled away the arteries and veins that held it into place and he brutally ripped it out. A fountain of blood shot from the now dead man's chest. Derek took a breath and let it rain down upon him before removing his surgical mask. He licked the corner of his mouth, salivating slightly, as he bit down into the heart. Blood spurted over his face and he tore into the muscle, indulging as he chewed.

A curtain of white flashed before his eyes and he took a step back.

An inhuman cry sputtered from Derek's throat as he felt his body crash against the wall. His mask was back on and there was no heart tissue in his mouth, but as he looked at his recently clean hands, he saw them drenched. Ghosts and echoes of laughter swelled the room and he was crushed underneath them. His hands flew to his head, his teeth and eyes clenching shut as he tried to keep the voices out. Blood soaked his hair, joining the venom that seeped from his hands. The smell, that he had once found bitter, was becoming more enticing.

"Why can't I wake up?" he whimpered. The voices were closing in on him and the blood dripped onto his shoulders. "This isn't happening! I'm dreaming! I'm dreaming!"

"Yes, Dr. Stiles, this is all just another bad dream." Didymus appeared before him, glaring down with his glowing red eyes. "Any second now, you'll open your eyes and the sun will be shining, birds will be chirping and a brand new day will be standing before you."

He leaned in, his cold breath spraying on his face. "You just keep telling yourself that. You really are a broken record, you know that?"

Derek slid down the wall and Didymus crouched to meet his eyes. "Adam wants you." He whispered. "You're so close. Why do you resist? Things wouldn't be so painful for you if you'd just come to him."

"Never!"

Didymus drew in closer, his face a mere inch away. Yet, the closer he got, the softer his expression became. Derek swallowed uneasily as he looked directly into his eyes, which had turned still and lifeless. "You won't come?" He blinked slowly. "Then, I'll have to come get you myself."

"Wha?" Derek was cut off by his own gasp. Didymus's fingers brushed his cheek gently. They were cold . . . dead. The red glow from his eyes darkened, bleeding out past his eye lids and masking him. His hair turned dry and grew until it fluttered well beyond his waist. His skin turned sallow and rotten. "Adam . . . no . . ."

The man, the monster, he feared more than anything tenderly pulled his surgical mask off and stroked his temples. _"You belong to me, Derek Stiles."_

The frigid, ghastly whisper slithered through his brain. Derek could not move. Horror paralyzed him. A terrible screech filled the air, shaking him to his core. The sound scarred him, promising to haunt him until his death.

He was only vaguely aware that the sound was coming from him.

-----

A/N: And the score is Adam: 1 - Derek: 0

I know Derek's being unusually violent, but considering that he's terrified and trapped, I think we can expect him to do things he wouldn't normally do. After all, even the most docile of creatures can become vicious if backed into a corner. Speaking of which, if this chapter didn't have enough blood and gore for you, just wait.

Get read for duel 2, people! Heaven or Hell . . . cause it's gonna rock!

Disclaimer: All Trauma Center characters are property of Atlus. I do this for no profit, but simply for the enjoyment of myself and others.


	8. Prophecy

**PLEASE READ THE WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING**

Did that get your attention? Good.

**WARNING:** This latest installment will include scenes of sexual nature. While the sexuality of these scenes will be very mild, it is completely non-consensual, leaving one participant at the complete mercy of the other.

Okay, I know I promised everyone a gratuitous scene of violence in the last chapter. Believe me, I had every intention of having that here as well, but after I had actually written it out I realized I was going a bit over the top. Now, I didn't change it because I didn't think you guys could handle it or anything. It's just that, when I took a step back and looked at the story as a whole, it didn't really mesh well with where I wanted it to go.

There's still a rather detailed violent scene in this chapter so for those of you hoping for some gore, fear not. It just won't be _as_ gory as I had originally intended.

Oh yeah, and Derek says some naughty words.

Okay, now that you've all been given a thorough heads up, by proceeding you agree that Crazy Girl Person is not liable for any trauma caused as a result of reading this story. Though, I'm sure most of you can handle it, if but if you can't, I is not liable! You all agreed to it! (points to everyone) Now then . . .

_**Heaven or Hell? Duel 2! Let's Rock!**_

Paying the Price

Chapter 8: Prophecy

Fear . . .

Desperation . . .

Hopelessness . . .

There is no struggle quite like that of a mouse caught under a cat's paw. The sheer strength of the predator holds him still. His small and meager body is no match. He cannot hope to squirm to freedom. If he were to try, the sharp claws of his captor will present themselves. They will hold him in a false embrace, pushing into him just enough to draw blood. Too much resistance on his part will ensure that he is impaled.

It is fair to say that the mouse is at the cat's total mercy. At this point, his only chance of survival would be a change of heart in the feline, if he were to retract his claws and lift his paw. But this is not to be. The hungry look his eye has sealed the mouse's fate.

The mouse, otherwise known as Derek Stiles, closed his eyes tightly.

Fierce trembling raked his body. Broken gasps hissed through his teeth. He flinched away from Adam's touch as the dead man stroked his face. _"End this pitiful fight for unnatural life." _

"N-no . ."

"_I am not requesting. You are mine, now. You will obey."_

The cold voice stabbed into his skin. The frigid mist from it spread over him completely and seeped into his body. Adam's fingers moved through his hair, claiming a solid grip on his skull. Derek tried to sink to the floor as he felt the cadaver move in closer. A short cry of pain tore his throat as Adam clenched his fists, pulling the surgeon back up by his locks. Derek cringed as he felt a rotted, clammy forehead touch his own.

"_Abandon your selfish desires . . ."_

The words bled into his brain from their touched foreheads. It caressed each crevice in his mind. The warmth from his hands began to recede and his body grew numb.

"_Warmth can be found in blood. Bathe yourself, and walk the path of salvation."_

"I . . . won't . . ."

"_Your journey to redemption begins now. Cleanse yourself, and come home."_

Derek struggled to move, his muscles making only pathetic squirms beneath his cold skin. Adam's unwelcome embrace caked over him, both inside and out. He could feel the deranged man try to reach into his heart and take over. His will to resist was slipping from him, becoming numb just as his flesh was. Even through the dead feeling of his fingers, he could sense the dark venom coating them.

It is said that in times of desperation, the mouse can find a final strength within him. It is a last ditch effort of escape and, if his spirit longs so enough, he can break from the cat's grasp.

Derek pushed his will to his arms, fighting through the chill in his flesh. He twitched his fingers and cast an iron grip over them. Giving a grunt, he shot his hands up and around Adam's wrists. A slight hiss of sizzling, dead flesh shattered the icy shell around him. Adam did not let as much as a whimper past his lips, but he pulled his hands back, freeing Derek from his grasp. The surgeon was quick to scramble to his feet and burst through the surgical ward doors, propelling his body as fast as he could.

He ran to the dark hallway, the only light source coming from an angry red sky outside. Demonic storm clouds foamed around the building. Lightning occasionally slashed the clouds, causing them to pour bloody rain against the windows. Derek panted as he watched the Hellish storm churn through the blood stained glass.

"_You can't escape, Dr. Stiles. Resistance will not be tolerated." _The voice pulsated all around him. His feet carried him away from the raging sky and through the twisting corridors. Derek did not care where he was going as he blindly dashed down the empty halls. He continued running, skidding to a stop when something moved in front of him.

Inky blackness swam in the shadows of the hall. It danced hypnotically in his vision, his frantic footsteps succumbing to a timid retreat. Derek's breath was still heavy, even as he curiously observed the movement. Two red wounds opened from the abstract form, stabbing directly into his eyes. His body went stiff as the shadow's eyes locked with his own. It slithered toward him, slowly, but ominously all the same. _"There is no where to run. Return to me, and I may show you leniency."_

Terror was quick to override his interest in the figure. He freed himself from its enticing stare and ran down another hall. Derek could feel the eyes of the creature bore into him, even as he took several winding turns. He threw his gaze back and forth as he ran. The shadows churned around him, threatening to drag him into their darkness. Lightning flashed from outside again, spattering more blood against the windows.

Derek skidded to a stop. The quick bolt of light had outlined a more vivid figure, his pale features shining against the red glow outside. His eyes were impossibly large, lifeless, and his mouth was pulled into a torturous grin. The cold skin on his face was stretched by his exaggerated expression. Derek recognized him instantly. His lungs sucked in a terrified gasp.

Jason Morns had been one of the first patients infected with the new bacteria. The surgical and research team had worked long and hard to save him. Regretfully, because so little was known at the time, he did not survive treatment. His family had held no ill will towards any of them. They understood their situation, knowing the hospital was dealing with a strain so new it was not even named yet. His survivors had put him to rest several weeks ago, yet there he was, twitching down the hallway.

Derek turned on his heels, stumbling slightly, as he ran the other way. He took another series of turns, freezing as the silent hallways filled with scuffled footsteps. He made out the jerking movements from several pale bodies. They seemed to dangle like marionettes, their presence in the darkness noted by their red eyes. He whipped his head back and forth, seeing several pairs of dots bouncing in the shadows.

Another flash of light outlined the gaunt faces that hosted them. The cadavers had all but materialized from no where and Derek found himself surrounded. The air around him became moldy and thick. He was growing lightheaded as his breath slowly intoxicated him. With no where to run, he slowly backed away until his back pressed against a heated glass pane. The clouds shook the window slightly as they growled at him from the other side.

"Th-this has to be a nightmare." Derek gripped his head desperately. "This can't be real!"

His haunting surroundings were not impressed. The cadavers did not give him the satisfaction of a reply as they continued to close in.

Derek's dilated pupils twitched; matching the movement of his trembling body, as they skittishly took in his impending doom. His quivering lips stilled for a moment as he took in a gasp. A break in the pale sea flashed in the corner of his vision. He looked towards it, his eyes settling on a small gap between the wall and the enclosing parade of dead marionettes. He rushed for it, the heat from the bloody storm outside brushing him through the glass. He twisted his body and lunged through the opening, flinching when a dead hand gripped his forearm. He ripped his hand from the weak grasp and pushed the body away with his foot, breaking into a sprint as the others closed in.

The intoxicating mist they carried thinned from his breath as he ran. Still, he saw the twitching of bodies through the sky's red glow. They appeared down the throats of each hallway.

"They're everywhere!" he gasped. He whipped his head back and forth, seeing that all of his possible escape routes were blocked. Almost all of them, anyway. During his frantic scan of his situation, Derek's eyes came to rest over an elevator door. He dashed to it and punched the button a few times, relieved when it opened instantly for him. He did not even wait for the doors to open completely before he squeezed in. His form toppled inside and he quickly got to his feet, leaning all of his weight into the close button. "Close, close dammit!"

They obeyed, leaving him in perpetual darkness. He inched back, gripping the support rails as the cart descended. Slivers of light flushed with each floor that passed. A gratified sigh escaped him when it pulled back the shadows, revealing no unwelcome stowaways.

Derek slid into a sitting position and took a breath, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Exhaustion took over and left him completely slumped against the wall, his chin pressed against his chest. A flash of light washed over him, exposing his blood stained scrubs before leaving him immersed in darkness once again. He tightened his fists, the latex of his gloves making a small stretching noise. Another wash of light revealed the Caduceus emblem on his surgeon uniform. He growled slightly as he clenched his hand over it.

"What am I doing?"

The gentle hum from the shaft answered him, broken only by a few clanks from the elevator cables.

"I'm abandoning my patient . . ." He shuddered as he thought of Leonid Kovar, unconscious and dying in the OR, alone.

"_**I was so scared, doctor . . . I froze, and all I could think about was running away. But, you didn't worry at all."**_

His grip on his uniform tightened.

"_**You stood your ground, and did what had to be done. You . . . you're a real doctor."**_

A groan of frustration escaped him. Anger at himself and Adam churned violently, rivaling the terror inside of him. "I can't run away." he growled darkly. Derek clung onto the rage he felt, using it to fuel his courage. The elevator slowed to a stop and creaked as the doors opened. He got to his feet, bracing himself for what awaited him on the other side. He sighed as a dark and empty corridor greeted him. No creepy bodies . . . yet.

He kept his guard up as he pulled out a penlight from his belt. No stiff scuffles of movement sounded from the hall. The only thing he could hear was his heart slamming against his ribcage. "Take it easy." he whispered, gently patting his chest to console the frantic organ. He slowly moved from the elevator and stepped into the hallway.

The penlight stabbed pathetically at the darkness, managing only to puncture a small wound in it. Derek slowly scanned the wall just opposite of him. So far, so good. Biting his lip, he pressed on, scanning each inch of the hallway. He was unable to see which floor the lift had stopped at and the Caduceus halls had a tendency to look alike. He guessed he was in the basement level. There were no plaques on the walls to denote which floor he was on nor were there any windows.

A strained moan from the elevator cut through the silence. Derek screamed as he spun around, seeing the lift doors close once again. He backed against the wall, breathing heavily as he heard the cart go up the shaft, leaving the sounds of his echoing yell in its wake. "Dammit, I'm going to have a heart attack before this is over. I just know it." He gulped and took a few seconds to steady his quivering breath.

Derek lifted the penlight again and continued scanning his surroundings. He was not so certain he was in the basement anymore. Though it was a bit run down looking, and the walls were a somber grey concrete, it looked like any ordinary floor in the hospital. Carts with medical supplies, tubing and wires cluttered the hallway and there were several doors, which on any other floor, would lead to patient rooms or staff break lounges. "This must be an abandoned floor. Guess I'll just have to keep walking until I find the stairs." he sighed.

Placing a hand on the rough and frigid wall, he continued on. Moving his tiny flashlight from left to right, he was only seeing more of the same. The paint less walls seemed to go on forever, as did the broken down equipment that hugged them. He sided stepped another cart, whipping the light around in hopes of catching something that would –

"AAAHHHH!"

Derek's cry trembled the dusty air around him. His penlight flew from his grasp, skidding away from him as he back peddled. His body slammed against the wall and locked up, moving only to accommodate the desperate panting of his chest. He stared into the black patch where he had last pointed the penlight. Derek slowly peeled himself from the wall, his eyes still directed at that area as he reached for the flashlight. He gripped it weakly, holding his wrist with his left hand to stop the shaking. Fitfully, he brought the light back to where he had last shone it and took a pre-emptive retreat.

Pasty flesh appeared from the darkness. Derek took another step back. The light traced the outlines of the man's forehead, coming to rest on a wide, glassy and lifeless eye. "It can't be. . ." he murmured. The other features of the elder man's face came into vision, interlocking with the image Derek held in his mind. "No . . . Secretary Anderson . . ."

As much as he did not want to believe it, the good-hearted, deceased Secretary of Health was before him. His body slumped in a chair, kept upright by the wall it was against. His face was void of expression, as were his eyes, but Derek could feel them piercing directly into him. They twitched stiffly and clumsily, following his every move. He was freed from their cold grip when the darkness quickly closed around them. Derek gasped, casting a blind glance at his burned out flashlight.

"Shit!"

Several sets of red eyes opened down the hall. The sickening sound of dead flesh moving towards him twisted his stomach. Derek threw his useless penlight at the approaching bodies and ran the other way. He crashed into the clutter of the hallway, tripping through the various objects that spilled on the floor. A cord managed to ensnare his ankle and he slammed to the ground. A sharp pain burned through his right temple. Derek let out a surprised wince as he felt blood begin to ooze from the cut. He shook off the pain, kicking his foot free from the wiring and scrambling back to his feet.

He kept his hand brushing the wall as he ran, stopping to kick open every door he felt. He hoped the green lit exit signs of the stairwell would present itself to him, even though he had doubted the power to those signs was still on, but each room only opened to more darkness or, if he was _really_ lucky, another patch of red eyes. "Gah, where the hell are they coming from!?"

Tiny crimson headlights poked from the shadows in front of him. He cursed as he glanced back at the growing army behind him. He was surrounded, trapped, once again. He looked ahead again, taking a head count of five. He drank in a breath. If this was to work, he could not afford a second of hesitation. He bit back on his tongue, the pain from it and the cut on his head searing through his fears. _Don't get scared . . . don't look back . . . just keep moving._

_Don't get scared . . . yeah right . ._

It was a miracle he had not defecated himself.

Derek reared back and launched himself into a sprint. He narrowed his eyes pushing as much speed to his legs as he could. His muscles twitched, wanting to recoil away from the danger they were bringing him towards, but he fought through it. Hesitance could prove fatal. A wave of musky air hit him and he braced himself, tackling through the small barricade of bodies.

He felt a two of them fall to the floor and another get knocked into the wall. A cold appendage brush his skin as he continued running by, but none had successfully grabbed him. He let out a small sigh as he glanced over his shoulder. He could not help but scoff as he heard them tripping over one another. The scoff quickly grew to light chuckles. He was not so certain that it was going to work, but it had. He made it.

The relieved laughter was brought to an abrupt end. Every ounce of air was violently spewed from Derek's lungs as pain engulfed his chest. The right side of his head was ringing and his bleeding temple burned, sending him stumbling dizzily. He twisted himself around as he fought against his inevitable plummet. Derek felt his back push against a door, opening it as he collapsed. Groaning, he clenched his eyes shut and nursed his aching chest. Running full speed into a wall was not among the most intelligent things he had done, but he had escaped. That was all he cared about at the moment.

Derek coughed as his breathing became easier and less pained. He opened his eyes, a flickering green immediately catching his attention. He sat up and turned, finding a stairwell softened by the timid light's glow. "Stairs! Thank God! . . . urk . . ." He had almost forgotten about his relentless fan club. He heard their stiff movements scrape against the floor and he quickly got to his feet, slamming the stairwell door shut. Derek leaned into the door, breathing heavily and bracing himself for the braying of the bodies. He dug his heels into the floor and put every ounce of his weight into it. He held his breath, tensed, and waited.

Waited . . .

Waited . . .

He slowly released his breath and took in another gulp of air. Derek strained his ears for any sound or movement from the other side of the door. Deathly silence answered him. "They're . . . gone?" Still keeping his weight on it, he turned and pressed his ear to the door. He again heard nothing. Backing gingerly, he kept his gaze locked with the door. He expected them to come bursting through the moment he let up from it. It never budged. Not as much as a click of the handle or pound was made.

"Whew . . . they're gone . . . gah!"

Derek's heels tripped against the stairs, causing him to fall to an unceremonious sit. Startled at first, he relaxed and closed his eyes, feeling his heaving chest gradually become more relaxed with each breath he took. His hand came to rest over his heart, making sure it did not try to burst from his ribcage. Derek blinked his eyes open and looked up at the various speckles of light that littered the stairwell. To get back to the surgical ward, he would have to climb up five flights of stairs. "May as well get started." he sighed and pushed himself to his feet. At least the stairwell was empty for the time being. His footsteps echoed mightily, rivaled only by the ache in his muscles. His entire body protested as he tiredly climbed the stairs, but that was not the only resistance he met.

_This is insane! What am I doing?!_

Derek coaxed his body to move on in spite of his mental conniption. _I'm willingly walking right back to that . .that . . bastard!_

His survival instincts were screaming at him. Each step threatened to turn his already shaking legs into putty. His lungs were weak, barely able to grasp onto any air. He wanted to run. He wanted to run far away and never come back. Derek paused for a moment and shook his head. It probably was not the best thing for him to do, as it prompted a headache to thrash in his skull. He groaned and rested against the wall, hissing as the gash on his head throbbed. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, gently massaging the headache out. "Just keep moving." he murmured. He forced himself back into motion, trying not to let the eerie silence get to him.

That quickly became the least of his worries.

A sharp cry was pulled from his throat, matching the noise that reverberated off the walls. Derek quickly threw his startled glance back and forth before a fluttered sound beat against him. He saw a dark shape strike against the side of his vision. His blood churned as he turned towards it and found his eyes starring into those of the crow. That crow . . . that insufferable, flying, pain in the ass.

The bird's crimson stare stabbed at him as it titled its head from side to side. Its wings twitched and stretched out, thrusting another cry from its beak. Derek recoiled with closed eyes and his hands pressed against his ears. The sound seeped right into his skin and rattled his bones. Derek sunk to the stairs and curled up, trying to keep his skeleton from shattering.

"_We are always watching. Not a single breath you take goes unnoticed."_

The crow's wings flapped through the sound, pushing it away just enough for him to hear a click against the metal hand rail. Derek inched slightly as he looked up to see the crow perched next to him. It glared over him, its avian features growing hawkish.

"Get away from me!" Derek lashed out at the bird. It easily dodged his hand and flew out of sight, cawing as it did so. He growled at the dark bird's chortle. His gloves squeaked softly as he clenched his fists. _"Not a single breath you take goes unnoticed."_

"Stop. Don't think about that." Derek took a break to swallow his shaky voice. He kept his form tense as the sound settled, slowly but surely returning to silence. "Focus on what you need to do. My patient needs me . . . I have to go back and save him." He took a breath. "I can't let everyone down. . ." Derek grasped the emblem on his uniform again. ". . . Angie . . ."

He narrowed his eyes, using the dim green lighting of the stairwell to trace her own. "Angie, you said I have no reason to be scared . . .but I _am_." The grip on his uniform pulled at his collar and choked him slightly. Still, his clenched fist tightened. "I don't even know if I'm dreaming or not. It seems so real, but it can't be." He gritted his teeth and slowly cast his eyes around the stairwell. "It doesn't matter. I'm here, where ever here is, and I need you to believe in me."

Derek lifted the hand that was not hugging his scrubs. He looked into the blood smeared glove, noting that the tar had long since stopped bleeding from his hand. He grunted. "Great. Now that I actually need it . . ." He lost his only weapon against Adam. If he caught him again, he would not be able to escape. "Shit . . ." he sighed. He let his hand dangle at his side while the other continued to cling to his uniform. "Angie, I need you more than ever now." He clenched his eyes shut, slowly tracing her form in his mind. "Please . . . believe in me."

A warm stroke brushed his left cheek. Derek gasped and opened his eyes, looking about slightly. He was still alone, the well remaining silent and still. He blinked as he touched his cheek. His frigid fingers burned slightly as they smeared his face with blood, but the warmth did not recede. A sigh escaped him, followed by a timid smile.

He still wanted to run. He wanted to kick open the emergency exit door and run until his body collapsed. Even with the warm caress on his cheek, he would have given anything to not have to take another step. But he did. And he took another.

He soon found himself at the door leading to the fifth floor.

Derek sighed. "This is it, Derek. No more quivering. Be a man and face your fears." He steeled himself as he pushed the door open slowly. A quiet rumble from the storm outside reached his ears. He saw the sky's scarlet color bleed onto the hallway floor. He peeked through the doorway carefully, finding the hall empty. He took in another breath. "Okay, they're still gone . . . .gah!"

The cold arms came from nowhere, one wrapping around his shoulder and another around his neck. Derek felt his body move into the Aikido throw Angie had taught him in Brussels, and the body of another deceased patient lay crumpled at his feet. "Where the hell did . . ?" His voice was cut off as he heard the stairwell explode with echoed groans and footsteps. He jumped over the body he floored and dashed down the hall, not needing to look back to know what was behind him.

"_What do you think you're doing, Dr. Stiles?"_

He tried to block out the voice that rippled in his head. He mentally traced the quickest path to the surgical ward, following as fast as he could.

"_I know what your intentions are. I am afraid I cannot let you return to the ward until you are ready."_

"What?" Derek choked, grimacing as he looked down the hall. Another wave of bodies flickered before him in the lightning. There was more this time, larger and heavier. He would not be able to tackle his way through them. Derek quickly plotted another route and ran down the hall.

"_You will not leave this floor again. The first phase of your baptism will begin now."_

"Dammit!"

The halls were swollen with bodies. There were no gaps, no weakened points in which he could break through. There was not as much as a ventilation shaft within his reach. He clenched his teeth, desperately looking for any way out. "There's no where to run, Stiles."

Derek flinched at the icy breath on his neck. He spun around and stepped back, finding himself starring into his own crimson eyes. "Don't you see how pointless this all is?" Didymus asked. He took a step towards him, wearing a sinister grin. "Look at me, Derek. I am you. I am your future; your destiny."

"I don't believe in destiny!" he hissed.

"You will."

Derek stepped back as Didymus continued to advance, eventually feeling something withered and icy press against his shoulders. He felt cold arms wrap around his waist. One of the hands rested sprawled over his stomach while the other gently stroked his chest. It left a chilling trail as it moved up his neck and cupped his cheek.

"_I had warned you."_

The poisonous voice trickled from the speaker's tongue, leaving a rancid mist on his ear. Derek tried to jerk his body into motion. Numbness festered where Adam had touched him. His warmth bled out of him, leaving him only able to make stiff movements at best. Adam tightened his grip on the surgeon. Derek shuddered as his dead hair fluttered and stroked his face bitterly. _"Resistance will not be tolerated. You will be punished."_

An enormous scream ruptured Derek's vocal cords. Fire ripped through his body and pulled his insides apart. At the same time, he felt pressure build around him, pressing down on his organs until they burst. Waves of blood splashed inside his body as his innards were mangled over and over again. The incomprehensible pain was one thing. His most desperate cry came when he felt himself being pulled from his body. The pain of his flesh still tormented him, but he could not feel, even as his limbs twitched in agony.

A frigid numbness coated the pain roaring within him. He felt disconnected from everything else, weightless, falling . . .

An eternity seemed to pass before Derek opened his eyes, finding himself crumpled on the floor. His insides squirmed restlessly as the pain and numbness of his skin throbbed in time with his heart. A strained moan escaped him and his stomach turned itself inside out. His body twitched as he vomited, his strength depleting with each jerking retch. At least he was still alive. A hand touched his face once his stomach began to calm down. It brushed his bangs behind his ear, careful to mind the gash on his temple.

"_For every order you disobey, I am going to have to hurt you. Do not make me have to do that again."_

Derek could only groan in response. He closed his eyes, wanting to fall asleep and never wake up again. Adam's fingers continued to run through his hair and trace down his neck. His other hand came to rest on his waist, gently pushing him onto his back and massaging his hip. Derek grunted and twitched in protest, his body too weak to do much more than that. "No . . . stop. . ."

Adam did stop, for a moment. He grabbed the sides of Derek's head and pulled on his hair, not minding his cut this time. _"I told you, I do not want to have to punish you again. Do not make me." _Derek gulped down a hiss of pain and scrunched his eyes. He held his breath, not daring to move. Adam slowly released his grip on him, brushing his bangs back from his forehead. _"Good boy."_

Even under the threat of another excruciating punishment, Derek could not help but flinch and whimper as Adam's dead hands continued exploring his body. The deranged man did not seem to mind as he continued caressing his torso. On the contrary, he seemed to indulge in every sound of displeasure that came from the surgeon. He got a terror stricken moan from the young man when he placed a hand on the inside of his thigh. Derek gritted his teeth, knowing any second that he would be de-robed.

That never came. Adam removed his hands from his body without as much as trying to loosen his uniform. Derek's body relaxed, a cloud of relief kicking up from his form. The worst was far from over. This he knew, but for the moment he still had his clothes on.

The freezing arms wrapped around his waist again, pulling him up. Derek dangled helplessly in Adam's hold as he was turned around, his back pressed against his chest once more. Adam pushed his chin up and forced his gaze directly at Didymus. He grinned, reaching towards Derek's temple. _"From this day forth, you will bathe in blood." _He hissed as Didymus squeezed the blood from his cut and slowly drew back his crimson stained fingers. _"You will indulge in the taste of death." _He forced his bloody finger tips into Derek's mouth. The surgeon shuddered at the sweet taste. _"You will deliver this Bliss onto the world. That will be your prophecy."_

" . . . guh . . ."

Derek bit on Didymus's fingers as hard as he could. He hissed and yanked his hand back. "Well, you've become vicious." he said, his sadistic grin never dipping as he shook his hand. Derek scowled at him as the excess blood from the bite pooled in his mouth. He moved to spit it out, but Adam's hand was quick to enclose over his mouth and keep it shut. He retched inwardly at the clammy fingers pressed against his lips. _"Drink it."_

Derek squirmed and flung his head back and forth. He withdrew his tongue as much as he could and flinched as the coating blood caressed his taste buds. He continued his desperate thrashing, increasing his efforts when Adam's fingers slipped. Another jerk of his head freed him and he sputtered, pushing the blood out with his tongue. "I . . . won't . . do it!" he gasped. "I don't care if you torture me again. I'm not doing this!"

He almost regretted those words in the next instant. His nerves were ignited and his mind was peeled from his body. Several minutes of flailing in numbing pain left him slumped over in Adam's grasp. His arms dangled from his bent form and his empty stomach convulsed, sending acid spewing from his throat. Vomit and blood dripped from his lips and swirled into a rancid puddle at his feet. He stared at it, too weak to lift his head, and watched as sweat splashed it as it fell from his brow.

"Are you ready to give up yet?" Didymus smirked.

". n-no. ."

He sighed and approached him, not bothering to side step the hurl. Adam kept an arm over his waist as he pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him upright. Didymus tilted his chin up and grinned. "Don't you see who is here? This man found his answer in death and is eager to see you take the first step to salvation."

"Wh-wha. . .?"

Didymus's grin deepened. He slowly released Derek's chin, making sure the man had enough strength to keep his head up, and backed away. He directed his bitten and bloody fingers towards one of the bodies behind him. Derek's eyes were barely open as he looked where Didymus pointed, but they grew large when he saw the man in question. His strength returned to support his rigid frame. His ill stomach grew icy as he looked into the crimson dyed eyes of the man he had not seen since he was eight.

"D-Dad. . . ."

Alexander Stiles looked just the way he had seen him at his burial. His reddish brown hair was inky against his colorless face. His expression was stoic, indifferent, rather than harboring a psychotic grimace as the other bodies had. Likewise, his eyes contrasted the empty stare of the others. They bored into those of his son; cold, disappointed, hateful . . .

". .no. ." Derek's voice was pathetically tiny. Didymus gave a low chuckle as wetness stung his eyes. Rage churned in his heaving chest as he tore his gaze from his dead father and glared at his dark twin.

"You son of a bitch!"

Derek broke from Adam's grasp, lunging towards Didymus and punching him between his eyes. He tackled him as he went down, gripping his hands around his neck savagely. "You will _not_ ruin my memories of my father!" Derek growled, slamming the doppelganger's head into the floor. He pressed him down with one hand, balling his other into a fist and pounding him in the face.

His wrath only increased with each punch he threw and soon, even Didymus's bloody and pulped face was not enough to sate his rage. His hands found themselves around his neck again, pressing unknown strength into his flesh. The cricoid cartilage split under his increasing grip. A soft burst of liquid sprayed against the inside of his neck as Derek felt the jugular vein rupture. Still, his anger grew, boiling and foaming his blood. The cracking cartilage finally snapped and tore through Didymus's throat. The blood from it sprayed, speckling the lens of Derek's glasses, but he paid no mind.

He crushed the broken and bruised neck, slamming Didymus's head against the floor. Blood from the ruptured artery sputtered from the torn hole in his throat. A puddle formed around his head, splashing with every crack his skull took. Derek panted, hissing and drooling between his clenched teeth. His eyes were locked with the doppelganger's empty stare. The tension in his own was slowly washed by his impending tears. The intensity of his grit teeth receded with each heart beat.

_. . .Oh . . . God . . ._

His fingers released the neck and he became are of the scarlet dots on his glasses. His eyes and mouth widened.

_. . . no . . . God, no . . ._

He slowly turned the palms of his blood soaked hands towards him. He could nearly see his red tinted, distorted reflection in them. He looked back at Didymus. The grin from his evil twin's face never let up. His eyes were void of their crimson glow, distant and lifeless, but his sinister gaze was imprinted in them. "I . . . killed . . ." Derek choked for a moment and looked back at his hands. They were warm again, almost tingling. A short laugh escaped him and he bit down on it quickly. His vision blurred as fresh tears began to wash his eyes. "I killed him." Derek's voice strained, anguish and blood lust twirled with one another. He fought the grin that split his face as his shoulders shook. A sob escaped him, followed by a light chuckle.

"This . . . isn't funny . ." Derek cried, clinging to his agony for all it was worth. The horror from the killing festered in him painfully, but he had to stir it, to fuel it in hopes that it would consume him. He had to, or else he would not be able to ignore the fact that, part of him_enjoyed_ it. "This isn't happening." A small fit of laughter bubbled from him.

_No, I'm a doctor._

Derek pressed his hands to his head, the dried blood on his hair caked by the fresh coat on his fingers. _"Do not suppress your true feelings, Dr. Stiles."_He cringed as he felt Adam's form descend upon him again. _"You have been blessed with this gift and now, your spirit is happy. Happy to finally walk the path of salvation."_

"No!" Derek screamed. "You . . . bastard! You're doing this to me!" He took a gasp for air, his breathing caught between sobs and chuckles. Adam embraced him from behind and gently brushed his fingers through the salty river on his cheek. _"You belong to me, Stiles, but you're feelings are your own. To deny them will only cause you further pain. Stop fighting against the inevitable and embrace what you have inside. You have no choice."_

Biting his lip, Derek struggled to keep the mounting hysterics inside, but the pressure was too much. It ruptured within him and propelled his body into a manic fit of laughter. A fresh rush of tears burst from his eyes as he clenched his frame. His shoulders trembled under his desperate hold, but the laughter continued, casting a haunting echo through the hall.

_No . . . this isn't happening! This isn't me!_

His mental flailing did nothing to deter his blood thirsty howls. Adam tightened his hold on the surgeon and settled his chin on his left shoulder. He purred a sinister whisper. Its volume paled in comparison to his screeching, but weaved through the sound, casting a strong murmur in his brain.

"_Welcome to Bliss."_

-----

A/N: Derek Stiles stars in _Dead Rising 2: Caduceus_

I couldn't stop thinking about Dead Rising as I wrote this chapter. I was going to have Derek say a line in which he would swear never to play that game again if he ever got out alive, but it ruined the mood of the chapter. It's a shame, because it would have been a nice bit of humor considering all the scary stuff that was happening, but this story is a horror before it is a comedy.

And the score now is Adam: 2 – Derek: 0 Poor, poor Derek. He's not doing so well, is he?

Fear not, for the fight is not over yet, though it certainly doesn't look too good for Derek, does it? Yup, duel three is comin' and it's gonna rockin' sockin' robot.

BTW, a friend on Deviant Art that goes by the handle of Detective Anonymous was awesome enough to draw an art piece for this story. It has Derek going crazy and Adam warping his mind, with Didymus in the background being his evil twin self. Seeing that picture makes me realize just how badly I'm tormenting Derek. I'll post a link to it in the top of my profile once it's been uploaded on Deviant Art – so watch out for that!

Credit goes to In the Beginning for Alexander Stiles's name.


	9. Leap of Faith

A/N: Credit goes to In The Beginning for letting me use Alexander as Derek's father's name and allowing me to reference chapter two of _Stories of Our Lives_.

_**LET'S ROCK!!!**_

Paying the Price

Chapter 9: Leap of Faith

The last time Derek remembered being carried in his father's arms, he was just a few weeks into his eighth year of life. He had been at the dining room table feverishly working on a drawing. He could not remember what it had been. Maybe it was of his cat, Tama. He did remember how badly he wanted to finish it. He had been so sleepy at the time that he could not keep his head up, scribbling with his orange colored pencil even with his cheek pressed against the tabletop.

The next thing he knew, he was drowsily blinking his eyes open. He heard heavy footsteps thump against the carpeted stairs just below him. Derek lifted his head slightly and his father looked down at him, smiling. He returned the smile and closed his eyes as they reached the top of the stairs. Alexander proceeded to his son's room, gently lowering him into his bed. Derek had nearly fallen back to sleep by then. He could barely register being tucked in before his mother's frantic screams woke him hours later. He had gone to the top of the stairwell and looked down, seeing the very man that had carried him up them lying crumpled at the bottom.

After that, Alex was admitted to the hospital, never to come home again. Derek was mortified by the death of his father. He was still too young to understand why it had happened, why the doctors could not save him and that his dad was not coming back. Derek would spend hours looking for his father, wanting to talk to him about what had happened at school. Those times were the hardest for him, when he would suddenly remember that his searches were futile. He no longer had a dad to talk to, play with, or help him with homework. Yet, even as the agonizing grief washed over him, the process would repeat itself the next day and he would wander around the house, wondering why his father had not yet come home from work. It took several months after Alexander's death for it to finally sink in.

When it did, it was like reliving the day he watched his father's coffin being lowered into the ground. However, even as a dull pain followed him from that moment on well into adulthood, his wounds had begun to heal. He had finally been ready to move on.

He would never have guessed that he would be carried by his father again.

Alexander was not smiling this time. His glassy eyes were narrowed to slits as he carried his adult son towards the surgical ward. Adam retained his divine aura as he moved slightly ahead of his lifeless minion. His light footsteps masqueraded as a glide and his hair flowed slowly behind him, disturbed by an absent wind. Alexander was not smiling, but Derek had been. The tooth clenched grin was relentless. His many desperate attempts to scrape it from his face were in vain. Derek's body occasionally twitched in breathless laughter while the tears traced down his face. These were mere whispers of the whirlwind that raged inside of him. His physical body was too worn to do it any justice.

_Don't just sit there! Do something! Move! Fight back! Do something!_

The desperate pleas echoed in his mind, his physical form hearing only noise. Screeches from his last shred of sanity pathetically scratched at the darkness. The most they did was power the tears that streaked his face. He struggled to close his wide, dilated eyes, but not as much as a brow quivered in his favor. The same was true for his other limbs, which refused to acknowledge him.

Derek was not one to give up easily. He tried to still his blood soaked fingers as they tensed and gripped onto the front of his uniform. The crimson stain seeped his scrubs and warmly caressed his belly, fueling the resentful enjoyment of it. Another manic wave of laughter escaped him. His flesh rejected him and struck him down as the surgical ward doors creaked open. As they swung in the wake of the entering trio, only his watering eyes dared to accept his feeble grasp.

-----

"This can't be happening!"

Derek retreated to his mind, the unending darkness a much more welcoming sight than that of his own body betraying him. He collapsed to his knees, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides. "I can't let this happen! I won't!" he strained. He reached for an arm, a leg, a pinky, anything that would obey him. Laughter ripped through him. He felt, more than heard, his own voice scoff sadistically at his efforts.

"Why . . . can't I move?" A fresh gulp of tears spilled from his eyes, the salt giving him a distant sting.

The shadows groped at him, shuddering in tune with the laugh that shook his flesh and blood form. He flinched away from where the unwelcome touch had struck out. He shivered at the cold that radiated from his arm, letting out a surprised yell as his opposite shoulder received the same touch.

"Dammit!" he growled, gripping his head and withdrawing into himself. He collapsed and fell to his side, resigning himself to a fetal position. The shadows pawed at him relentlessly, but he squeezed those unsavory thoughts from his head. All he could do was hold on and try to keep himself from fading from existence. He had felt the tears run down his flesh cheeks. He kept that water flowing, doing everything he could to keep his last connection with his physical form from being severed.

-----

Insane chortling swept the small prep room. Derek clutched his stomach as his laughing fit strained his muscles, though this was put to a small pause as Alexander pushed him to his feet. Weighed from the exhaustion and hysteria, his legs were unfit to support him. Derek sunk slightly and let out a hiss as his father's hand jerked his head back._"Clean him."_ Adam commanded. Alex gripped his arm and pushed him towards the sink.

The glasses were torn from Derek's face and tossed onto the counter. Another wince escaped him when Alex's hand gripped his hair, tugging violently on his roots and cut temple, and his head was plunged into a brimming sink of water. Cold fingers combed through his hair and roughly scrubbed the blood from his scalp. Derek gave a feeble struggle during the impromptu bath, protesting only due to the lack of air. The moment his head had been yanked back, the quick breath he gulped in was expelled by laughter.

His hair and face had been dried in the same manner. A towel was savagely rubbed over him, picking up dots of red as it scraped against his cut. Still, his chuckling continued, becoming slightly muffled when a surgical mask was placed on him. _"The second phase begins now. With his mask, you are seen as the Healer. Hide your thirst for blood behind it, and they will offer it to you."_

A fresh pair of gloves stretched over his hands. "_Take these hands which yield your . . .__**Healing Touch**__ . . . take them and give them their true meaning."_

His glasses were placed back on the bridge of his nose, cutting into the river of tears from his eyes. The grin still radiated from behind his mask as he gave a jerky nod in obedience. He entered the OR, his strength fueled by his blood lust.

-----

"I'm disappointed in you, Stiles."

A tired groan poured from Derek in response to Hoffman's voice. He slowly lifted his head. The elder surgeon's form rippled in his watering eyes, but his disapproving glare retained its shape. "You're just going to give up, aren't you?"

"I didn't give up." Derek's voice scratched heavily in his throat.

"You're right. You're not giving up." Hoffman narrowed his eyes. "You're enduring."

His glower stayed constant with the younger man's eyes. Slowly, he began circling him, his gaze never straying. Derek, on the other hand, turned his glance to the back of his hands and absently listened to the sharp footsteps.

"You're trying to find a way to live with this, safe in the shadowed haven of your mind. You're going to stay here, eyes closed, trying to ignore what is happening as best you can. You're accepting, enduring, but . . ." He completed his circle, facing Derek once again. He crouched before him and leaned in. " . . that sounds like surrender to me."

"What do you want from me!?" Derek screamed. "I tried! I really did! I fought as hard as I could! I can't even control my own body anymore! The only thing I can physically do is cry!"

"Yes, I've noticed." His voice scraped. "So, that's what you're going to do? Just lie here and cry?"

Derek let out an aggravated grunt. "Don't you get it!? Don't you see what's happening to me!?" A pained sob choked him. "I feel, but I don't feel. I know I'm moving, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I . . . can't explain it. I feel my wet hair, my gloves, my mask . . . but it's as if I don't exist anymore. The only thing I feel, that I can _really_ feel, is my tears. I have to keep crying, because if I slip for a second, I may never be able to connect with my body again. If that happens, then _he's_ won . . So I'm doing everything I can to keep that channel open. It's the only way I can beat him. Does that sound like I'm giving up to you!?"

Hoffman stared at him silently.

-----

A timid creak of the OR doors became precursive to Derek's crazed murmurs. His eyes flickered towards Victor's form, still held by his time distorting ability. He joined his motionless colleague at the operating table. A hint of excitement further jangled his twitching body.

"_Death is like a mist. It emits from the deceased, providing the earth with a breath of liberation. Take in this mist. Let it intoxicate your senses."_

The words of Adam's command whispered in his mind. Derek slowly reached for the scalpel with his trembling fingers. The dying breaths of the patient weakly stroked his senses, the live blood running through his flesh filtering their true potency. His tongue lapped up the scent as he lifted the scalpel.

-----

"You're a fool, Stiles."

Derek stiffened at the taunt and returned Hoffman's glare. He remained looking unimpressed by the young man's perturbed expression. "Haven't you learned anything?" Hoffman continued. "You're an unparalleled surgeon, you have lightning fast reflexes and tremendous spirit, but you've always been a bit shy on brains."

"Hey!"

"This isn't a problem you can just muscle your way out of. Have you already forgotten? These are your powers, Derek. Not mine, not Adam's . . . yours."

Derek pushed out a breath of frustration, the tension that gripped his body loosening somewhat. He closed his eyes, pushing his overflowing tears down his cheeks. "Yeah . . . but how can I do anything if I can't move my body?"

"Who said you had to move your body in order to use your powers?"

He took in a tiny gasp, tensing slightly as his eyes opened. Derek lifted his head, finding only the thick darkness. He pushed himself up and looked back and forth. "Dr. Hoffman?" He received not as much as his own echo in response. Hoffman was gone. Pushing out a heavy sigh, Derek collapsed into a sprawl on his back. "Use my powers to _what_? Slowing down time won't help me."

He stared blankly into the constant overcast of black. So what if he was 'shy on brains'? He was desperate, at the end of his rope, and the last thing he needed was a riddle. If Adam's order was any indication, he was running out of time. He could feel panic fester inside of him. "No . . . I have to stay calm. I have to-"

He blinked.

No, slowly down time would not help him, but maybe . . .

"I don't know if this'll work, but it's the only thing I've got right now." Derek pushed himself up, thinking of the sea blue star he had conjured before. Arching his body forward, he drew his legs crossed underneath him and rested his hands in his lap. Derek slowly flexed the fingers of his upturned palms. "I can do this. I've done it before." He expelled a breath and closed his eyes. "Relax . . . focus . . . concentrate."

He pressed his lips together before letting out another breath, coaxing out the powers in his mind.

-----

"_Stiles, why are you hesitating? You have your orders."_

Derek's labored gulps calmed slightly into deep, rhythmic breaths. His hand contrasted his breathing as it continued to shake, still raising the scalpel slowly. It hovered over the open chest cavity, brandishing the small knife but unable to descend it. His grin twitched unseen behind his surgical mask. Even as his facial expression remained death bound, his body was encased in a reluctant hold.

Stiff fingers clutched tightly to his shoulders as a cold breath whispered in his ear.

"_Are you still attempting this pathetic struggle? I should punish you for your insolence . . but . ."_

Adam took a step away, running his fingers down Derek's back.

" _. . .if defeat at your own hands is the only way you will learn, then so be it. Of course, you will still be punished for this waste of time. I will not tolerate your misbehavior."_

He withdrew himself to a corner of the room, watching the surgeon's internal struggle. The tension that held Derek's psychotic form bled from him slightly as his laughter sputtered to tiny breaths. Even so, his scalpel remained raised and his eyes were locked with the man's heart.

-----

"Almost . . . don't lose it . . . be calm . . ."

A small flutter of excitement at Adam's words nearly broke his concentration. It was working. All he had to do was coax out the tranquil shape from before. He could almost feel it. The symbol traced in his mind with a speed that belied its silky caress. Derek took in a shudder and forced himself to withdraw his grip. His fingers collapsed to half curled palms and his head dipped further, nearly pressing his chin to his chest. The shape traced over his brain again with a slightly more pressing stroke.

"There . . . I think I . ."

His breath was drawn short by his own gasp.

-----

Derek's laughter reached an inhuman pitch as it blended with cries of pain. His convulsing form backpedaled, slamming to the wall and wriggling against it. Several minutes passed as he struggled in the pain, the end of it denoted by his top half pitching forward. His arms dangled at his sides with the small of his back pressed to the wall. His shoulders and breath moved in perfect unison. Heavy and slow, they continued the easy motions, broken only as they succumb to quick and rapid jerks.

Gnarled tension returned to his body. Derek's mad laughter escalated as he pushed himself from the wall. Adam silently watched him stiffly walk back to the table, his lips turned into a tiny smirk.

-----

A scream was torn from him.

Derek's form churned violently as a red line slashed across his brain. Crimson seeped from the cut and another carved into him. This process repeated three times more, leaving him blinded by the pain. He was all but clawing at his skull, attempting to get at the cuts, when the burning seeping back into the slashes. The pain throbbed in its wake, poking and prodding his mind with each beat of his heart.

He slowly opened his eyes. Vision swimming in agony, he groggily tried to focus on the blurry object before him. A few blinks found his sight returned and a strained choke grabbed him.

The dark back drop before him was wounded. Scarlet blossomed from the slits and cast his pale reflection at him. He could see his crimson dyed eyes, large and salt stained, as well as his frame shaking horridly. The familiar star shape stood jagged and bloody before him.

"Fuck . . ." he muttered, his teeth pinching his trembling lip. His hands twitched in time with his erratic breathing. A growl rolled from his throat, ending as his fists slammed into the cold floor. "FUCK!"

His hands scraped against the floor as he drew his arms in. Tears wet his hyperventilating breath as he bowed his head. "What do I do now?"

"You give up."

Derek's head shot up as the cold voice crashed into him.

_No! It can't be . . ._

He pushed himself to his feet and whirled around. The stare that shot out from the familiar, red tinted eyes stabbed him cold. "You! Y-you're . . .you . ."

"Broken record _again_, Stiles. You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?"

Didymus stumbled before him, his head hanging by his shattered neck. Cartilage still punctured his skin and his ruptured jugular dangled from the gaping wound. Despite this injury, Didymus's spirit proved to be ever resilient. His sadistic grin was plastered on his face, his eyes still holding their demonic glow.

"Do not interfere with the baptism. You've yet to be fully cleansed."

"And I intend to keep it that way!" Derek yelled.

Didymus let out a low chuckle. "It's over, Stiles. A small wisp of death is all you need to complete your transformation. Surely you realize how close we are, how close _you_ are, to killing that man. His death, at our hands; it will be glorious."

Derek swallowed hard and closed his mouth with a tight frown. He turned his back to him and resumed his cross legged sit. "I'm not listening to you." he strained. Squeezing his eyes shut, his placed his fingers to his temples. "Focus . . . relax . . . concentrate. . ."

"You can't block me out." Didymus purred.

That did not keep Derek from trying, even as the scraping footsteps and dry voice cut right through him. He almost succeeded as he hunched his form tightly. Screaming his mantra in his head, the jagged sounds of Didymus's approach had been muffled until a mere drop of blood on his neck broke through his shield, causing him to shudder. The weight of Didymus's head fell on his shoulder, pressing the sickening feel of his burst vein against Derek's back.

"Your mentor is right, you know. All you're doing is enduring – surviving. But, you don't have to. You can _live_."

"Get off of me!"

Derek threw the dead weight from his back. He turned, further punting the dark twin away with a kick to his chest. "I am not going to let you tell me what to do with my life!"

Didymus's body met the dark ground with a heavy thud. His unsupported skull cracked, spattering a small spray of blood from the back of his head. Still, he moved to pick himself up, unperturbed by the fracture. "It's my life too, Stiles. We've already decided the path we're going to walk, so let's stop wasting our master's time."

Didymus clumsily rose to his feel and lifted an arm. As his left arm and head hung limply, the fingers of his outstretched hand pointed at Derek, drawing a befuddled look from him. That look slowly formed to surprise as a subtle glow outlined his hand, mimicking that of the glow in his eyes. "What are you doing?!" Derek gasped. A tiny scoff escaped the doppelganger as Derek felt the palms of his hands crawl. He quickly brought them up, seeing a sheet of crimson cover his hands and his paled complexion reflected within them. He growled, shooting his narrowed eyes at Didymus.

His mouth opened, quickly dropping from an angry snarl to a gape. No sooner than he saw Didymus close his fist did he feel something squeeze around his wrist. "Gah! What is this!?" A dark red tentacle was wrapped around his arm, its embrace crushing despite its soft texture. Another shot out and gripped his other wrist. Digging his feet into the ground, Derek fought against them both as they slowly reeled him in. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two shapeless arms reaching out from the bloody star he had created. Another pair pushed through the shape's hemorrhaging wounds and latched onto his ankles.

"No!" Derek struggled as he was flung back and slammed against the bleeding wall. Didymus chuckled as he crept towards him. "Deeereeeek. Don't struggled too much. Remember what happens to school girls in Japanese cartoons." He let out a hearty laugh, extending two fingers from his balled fist and slowly tracing a blood smeared star in the air. "This is your favorite shape, isn't it?"

Derek cringed, feeling it stroke over the slashes in his mind. "There . . . has to be a way out of this."

He frantically searched his mind, trying to find anything to turn the tide.

_I can't move my body . . . my powers have turned dark . . . I can't control them . . ._

The narrowed grip on Derek's eyes slowly released as they watched Didymus approach, hand extended and outlined with a soft red glow. He stopped his struggles and allowed his head to drop, his eyes closing.

_I can't control them . . . but _he . . .

Rapid breath escaped him, slow and quiet, but shaking his whole body. It quickly rose in volume, casting the sound of pained laughter through the dark chamber. The grin on Didymus's face dipped slightly. "Something funny, Stiles?"

"S-so . . . this is what it comes down too . . . isn't it?" The tears were propelled by his laughing fit, washing his face generously as he shook his head. "Adam was right all along . . . I don't have a choice but to accept what I have inside me."

It was Didymus's turn to frown. He tilted his limp head the best he could as he observed the hysterical doctor. "Ohhh, I see what you're trying to do. It's _not_ going to work, but if it'll get you to stop squirming, then I'm all for it."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Derek hissed between clenched teeth. "Let's just . . . just get this over with!"

A grin slowly returned to Didymus's face. "With pleasure, Stiles. I'm so glad you finally came around."

Derek shut his eyes tightly, allowed his convulsing body to hang as limply as it would. Even as his body was rocked by laughter, he had not thought it possible to be anymore terrified. _Please . . . God . . Asclepius . . . whatever or whoever is up there . . . please let this work._

"It _woooon't_." Didymus said, now standing before him. "But don't worry. I know you'll find Bliss to be everything our master promised."

A shaking grunt escaped Derek as he pried his eyes open. Slowly, Didymus raised his scarlet dyed fingers, drinking in the overflowing horror that poured from the doctor.

_What if he's right? What if this doesn't work? What if it's a mistake?_

Derek closed his eyes again, flinching as he felt Didymus close in. No, he could not afford to doubt himself. This was his only chance. There was no backing out now.

"If this is a mistake . . ." A final chuckle shook his body as he felt the blood drenched fingers press to his forehead. ". . . it'll be my last."

-----

A/N: Cliff hanger! Mwahaha!

Sorry for the wait but this chapter – my ass – it kicked it. Ugh . . . Yeah, the score's pretty much the same as from the last chapter. Will the next chapter bring it to three: nothing, or will Derek finally score a point? Anyone wanna place bets? (grins)

Please review!


	10. True Master

A/N: In the last episode of BattleStar Galactica, things did not look good for Derek at all. Left alone and outnumbered, he was forced to retreat into his mind, only to find he wasn't safe there either. He took a chance, knowing that there was only one way out and the consequences would be dire if he failed. So what happened next?

_**Heaven or Hell? Duel 3! Let's Rock!**_

Paying the Price

Chapter 10: True Master

Adam had always been patient.

During the days in which blood had flown through his veins, he was raised to be patient. These teachings had allowed him to build his empire. It brought him the power and money to spread his influence, shielded by a guise of the very thing he set to destroy. It brought him many followers, most of those willing to sip from his knowledge. For those more difficult, gradually sewing the truths that he knew into their minds required persistence or, if that failed, persuasion.

All of this was brought about through patience. The patience to learn and craft various plans, to reach a level of enlightenment that allowed him to die but continue living through his Bliss.

After well over a hundred years of practicing this dying art, Adam was starting to loose his patience.

Derek's body lay slumped against the wall. His eyes were still wide, but the color had faded from them, as it did from his skin. Despite his deathly appearance, he was very much alive as was evident by his shallow breath.

This was Derek Stiles' final stand. The physical strength of his body was taken to fuel the battle raging within.

A futile effort, Adam mused, though he was a bit surprised that he had held out so long. He had underestimated the surgeon's stubbornness. It mattered not. The outcome was inevitable and Derek would be punished for his insolence. Adam doubted he would have any issues with him disobeying orders when all was said and done, but he would not make the same mistake of second guessing him again.

Not when his new servant was already testing his patience.

-----

His hair and clothes whipped around him softly as he fell.

Derek clenched and twisted his body, his perpetual fall far from his concerns. Didymus's brain molded frighteningly well with his, bringing with it an equally frightening barrage of images. The intensity of them was more of the same, sending spasms of blood thirst and resistance through his body. What had truly terrified the shuddering remains of his sanity was not the bloody montage.

It was the fact that he could no longer tell where he ended and his dark self began.

Derek felt like vomiting.

His anchors were gone. He had tried to cradle the fragile images of various friends and family, sinking tooth and nail into anything he could hold onto. Those pictures proved too brittle, cracking with fluid crimson lines and shattering before him. The resulting shards stabbed him, puncturing wounds for his psychotic rage and laughter to escape.

"_Dr. Stiles."_

_Angie's sweet voice belied her firm set face. Her eyes locked with his, shimmering with unwavering faith. She nodded to him from the opposite side of the operating table and he felt himself nod in return._

"_Let's start the operation."_

He gripped the sides of his head, saliva sputtering from his lips as his laughter erupted. He could feel the knife in his hand as it cut through the skin. He could hear the moist suction of bloodied flesh tearing under the blade's edge.

"_Dr. Stiles!"_

_Angie smiled brightly at him, her eyes closed and hands behind her back. Her light blonde hair was darkened, clinging together from the drying blood in it. Her pink uniform was also splashed with scarlet, the rosy shade of her cheeks put to shame by the blood that drizzled down to her chin._

_Derek felt his own skin awash in crimson. The patient's body lay tore open before them. Organs and bones swelled from the ripped torso, falling and squishing against the floor._

"_The operation was a success! Good work, Doctor!"_

A dry heave raked his stomach. His laughter was broken by the nauseas thrashing of his body as he willed his gut to purge what he had inside. For his efforts, his heaves only succumb to a psychotic cry.

_Derek watched himself casually walk through the intensive care unit, several patient filled beds lined the walls on either side of him._

"_Dr. Stiles, I'd like you to take your rounds now."_

Derek looked down at his clenched fists, seeing his fingers tightly hug his scalpel to his palm. The knife's edge traced a red line down a back, organs and fat issue blooming from the slit. It plunged into the chest of another unnamed person. A red ribbon followed the scalpel as it was yanked out, allowing the blade to lap up the sweet nectar. Again and again, the scalpel plunged and cut, eating and drinking its fill, caking his hand even thicker with blood.

_Only small specks of white could be seen on the formally off cream walls. Blood spattered and dripped from everything, touching even the sun's rays with crimson. The patients lay unmoving, their remains tossed about. Derek continued his casual stroll down the hall._

"_You always take such good care of the patients, Derek."_

Derek clutched his head, pressing the cold metal of the scalpel into his forehead. Red streaks coursed through his hair as he curled up. "S-s . . .so what's hold you back . . . Stiles?" he muttered on jagged breath. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He clutched his chest as it shuddered horridly. "Yes . . . I am . . ." His twisted grin slowly cracked. A pained yell forced through his jumbled chortles and he tightened his grip on his hair. "No . . ." he grunted, slowly tossing his head from side to side. "No – no . . .no!"

Chuckles broke his desperate cry up. His grin was carved into his face again. "What's . . . wrong . . . Derek? Why are you . . . hurting yourself like this . . ?"

"_Dr. Stiles!"_

_Angie slowly brushed her bangs from her eyes. She smiled at him, a backdrop of autumn leaves accenting her innocent glow. She closed her eyes and folded her arms behind her back. _

"That . . . girl . . ." Derek gasped. His gnarled left hand slowly traced down his face, smearing blood on his brow. "It's her! She's . . . she's the one . . ."

"_What made you change? Why do you like killing so much?"_

_She reached out to touch his cheek. Her soft features were blurred by her sorrow. A thin coating of tears rippled her dulled, green eyes._

"_You used to like saving people's lives."_

"Dammit! She's holding me back!" Putrid anger foamed in Derek's throat. He pulled his hand away from his head, starring at the bloodied scalpel clenched within. "I . . . I have to . . ."

_His hands were wrapped tightly around her throat. She lay on the concrete, her body framed by dead, shriveled leaves. The shine from her eyes was gone, their dark color cutting into the deathly white of her skin. Derek laughed as he felt her grow cold._

" . . get rid of her!"

_Her pale lips parted as her empty eyes stared into his. A tiny whisper cracked from her throat. "I always love watching you smile. . ."_

Derek looked up from his hand as something yellow fluttered in his vision. Angie was before him, eyes closed and completely restful as she joined him in his endless fall. Her waving hair framed her body angelically, once again bringing out her sweet aura. Derek let out an angry snicker as he looked at her.

"Y-you . . . dammit . . !" He grabbed the collar of her uniform and roughly jerked her towards him. Not a flinch came from her in response. " . . . when I g-get rid of you . . ." Her head dipped forward, coming to rest on the crook of his neck. Derek's eyes widened at the stroke of her soft hair against his skin. His taut grin loosened into a gape. "A . . Angie . . .no!" He recoiled bitterly at her warmth, pushing her back to full arm's length. She retained her unconscious state, further fueling his rage as he tightened his hold on her collar.

"I-I . . . I'm going . . ." He raised the scalpel high above his head. " . . to end this . . ."

He closed his eyes as a wash of tears squeezed from them. A poisoned laugh hiccupped from him as he brought the knife down, tensing himself.

"Aaaah . . . arrrgh . . . uhng . . ."

Derek leaned his forehead onto Angie's chest, feeling the blood seep and spread through his uniform. He slowly opened his eyes and took in a shaky breath, staring at the knife he plunged into his belly. Strained gasps of pain escaped him at first, his trembling lips slowly pushing out broken chuckles as his voice grew. He held Angie closer to him as he curled up, retching laughter.

A gasp of air was sucked from the wound as he pulled the knife out. Again, he raised the scalpel over his head and stabbed himself, drool and tears streaking his face all the while. "Th-there . . . you want blood . .?" he screamed. He pushed the scalpel into his flesh as far as he could, twisting it until he felt it scrape one of his ribs. " . . have it!"

He ripped it from his body again, bits of flesh flinging out of his mangled wound. He stabbed himself in the thigh, the shoulder, the arm . . . again and again as he breathed in the smell of his blood. Each plunge of the knife increased his manic laughter. "My scalpel is not a murder weapon." Tearing a slash across his belly, his howls grew madder as he plunged his hand into the wound and felt out his digestive track.

Slowly, Derek pulled out his intestines, looking down in hysterics as he groped his own innards. "If anyone's blood will be on it . . it will be my own . . ."

He took in several gasps as he tried to catch his breath. His laughter was still potent, powered by the amusement of his disembowelment, but the violent act had somewhat sated it. Derek hugged his intestines to him, blinking the tears from his eyes and noting the red specks on his glasses. He bit his lip as his laughs picked up again. Torn flesh and globs of blood floated all around him, and as he focused on the girl before him, he noticed that Angie was covered in it.

His chuckles died down to drenched hiccups. Derek lifted a hand towards her face. Everything from the tips of his fingers to past his wrist was a solid red, leaving a scarlet trail on her cheek as he stroked it. He could still feel the softness of her skin through the thick liquid that coated his hand. "Oh Angie . . . red doesn't look good on you." He looked down at the hand that cradled his intestines and saw the scalpel still tightly held within those fingers. He lifted that hand, watching the blade gleam as the blood drizzled from it completely. "But . . . you won't ever have to wear that color . . ." He placed the tip of the knife to his chest. "Not if I can help it . . ."

Taking in a deep breath, which was quickly expelled as a dark chortle, he pushed the scalpel through his sternum. All breathing from him had stopped in that moment, tightly silencing his psychotic murmurs. Dark tar sputtered from the wound. His heart pounded. Dropping the scalpel, Derek cradled the puncture with both hands. The tar seeped through his fingers with each pulse.

He was finally able to take in a gasp of air after several agonizing minutes. Numbing cold had spread from his chest wound and slowly frosted his body. Derek leaned his forehead onto Angie's shoulder as his heart beat screamed in his ears. "Angie . . ." he whispered. "When this is over, you'll be as pure as you were before. I won't let you become stained . . ." He choked slightly as the chill poured into his lungs. "No matter what the cost . . . I won't let anyone else die . . ."

Derek felt something press against his feet, only realizing it was a solid floor after he nearly lost his balance. He gently lowered Angie to the ground as his dropped scalpel clattered at his side. He glanced at it slightly as he knelt beside the nurse, one hand still pressed firmly to his chest. He looked back at her, laughter raking his body once again, a long with the shivers from the cold.

"_So, this is how you've come to accept Bliss?"_

Derek did not look up as he felt Adam's presence behind him. Though perturbed by the obvious lack of respect from his servant, Adam made no move to punish him. That would come soon enough. For now, he would use his remaining patience to peel him apart. "_You are going to sate your lust for death with your own?"_

"No, Adam."

Derek rose to his feet and turned slowly. The jagged grin that Didymus wore so well was on his face, highlighted by the doctor's gleaming and blood shot eyes. "No, I won't die, because I need to save my patient." He took a moment to back his glare and words with a chuckle. "He will live, _I_ will live . . . and _you_ . . ." Derek's grin turned to a scowl, his laughter ceasing. " . . you are going to get the hell out of my head . . . once and for all!"

-----

A/N: You see everyone! _This_ is what happens when I work 12 hour shifts for four days straight! Or that's what my co-workers say anyway.

And the score is –

Adam: 2 Derek: 1

Derek's on the scoreboard! Yay! Go Derek! He's finally got some control of the situation, but at what cost?

If this chapter confused you – good! It was supposed to sort of be from Derek's POV so everyone could see how messed up his thought meats are right now.

(pokes Derek's thought meats)

Eeeewwww . . . . he's cwazy . . .

Speaking of crazy, it's time for _Kurai Pantsu Wasabi!_

Derek leaned his forehead onto Angie's chest, feeling the blood seep and spread through his uniform.

Derek: (opens his eyes) Hey! I've never been this close before. . . . (nuzzles Angie's breasts with his face) Oh yeah . . . .

Angie: (wakes up) Ah! Hey, you pervert! (slaps him)

Derek: Ow! Stop it! (Angie grabs the scalpel from him)

Angie: I'm gonna butcher you good! (chases him)

Derek: Gaaaaah!

Adam: Dammit you guys! Do you know how hard it is to mind rape someone? Stop it! I'm super cereal you guys!

Listen to Adam everyone. He is _totally_ super cereal.


	11. A Minor Setback

A/N: I can't believe I'm actually going to finish this thing. Wow! This didn't turn out at all like I thought it would. It's much better! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and supported me through this! This one's for all of you!

_**Heaven or Hell? Final Duel! LET'S ROCK!!**_

Paying the Price

Chapter 11: A Minor Setback

Adam observed him curiously, though not a hint of it seeped through his stoic expression. Lacing his fingers before him, he took a step towards the surgeon. It was near impossible to tell what color Derek's uniform had originally been under everything that coated it. Yet, in spite of the blood that caked him and the gaping wound from which his intestines hung he stood firm as ever, posed to strike and shivering only due to the cold in his body.

His eyes were locked with Adam's. The same fiery determination swirled within them, seemingly more dangerous given his dilated and blood shot eyes.

"_You're a stubborn man, Stiles. Stubborn indeed. . ."_ He took another step forward. _"Only one so foolishly blinded would fight against something he wanted."_

"Stop deciding what I want for me!" Derek growled. Adam looked at him, a small breath escaping his lips.

"_Look at yourself, Stiles. There is no denying you have a thirst for blood. You may have turned the knife on yourself, but the need to do so was there all the same."_

"Yeah . . . well . ." Derek gulped. "Maybe . . . maybe I did want it a little, but that doesn't mean I have to take it! I don't have to give into my desires. I _won't!_ No matter how strong they are!"

"_But you admit, then, that the desire is there."_

Derek winced at his words, his brow trembling slightly. Adam continued to step towards him with movements both calm and sinister.

"_How long do you think you can keep that desire at bay? Days? Weeks? As strong as your will is, it was built on lies and corruptions. Passion is a powerful emotion, Dr. Stiles."_ His glance slowly traced over to Angie. Derek stiffened and stepped before her, burning his gaze into the cold eyes.

"_You are fond of that girl." _He said flatly. _"You've desired her for a time."_

Gritting his teeth, Derek began walking towards his advancing enemy. "You will not threaten her!" he hissed, his scalpel lowered to his side and ready to strike.

"_You do not give me orders." _A flicker of deep red pulsed in his eyes. _"Furthermore, I am not threatening her. Rather, I am hopeful you will see the error of your ways through her."_

"Through her?" He narrowed his eyes. "You _are_ threatening her, aren't you?! Whatever you're planning to do to her, I won't let you!"

"_I do not plan to do a thing to her. She is really not the one you need to be concerned about."_

Derek's mouth dropped open, his voice cut off before it could make any noise.

"_Do you wish to see the world you are leaving your offspring? The ones you made with the girl you desire so much?"_

"What are you . . .?"

His words bled into a strained groan. He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his temple as his surroundings twisted dizzyingly. No sooner had everything appeared to settle around him did he feel weak sunlight spill upon him. He opened his eyes again, his nausea soon forgotten when he saw charred, wasted buildings tower over him. The sky above them was a copper red, filled with clouds, dry and veined with lightening.

Derek's gaze was brought downward as a foul smell and a haunting choir of groans and cries rose around him. He sucked in a breath in spite of the rancid air. The ground was lined with diseased and famished bodies, the ill young and old alike weakly flailing with what little energy they had. The doctor could only look on into the endless sea of people, his mouth a gape but unable to form any words.

His nose picked up the sweet embrace of death beneath the stench, but as much as the weakened bodies twisted and flailed, no one died. He could sense the death building up within them, adding unbearable pressure to their abused bodies, but the final sigh of relief was never released.

"Daddy!"

Amid his urge to vomit, Derek's head shot up at the cry.

"Daddy . . . please . . ."

"_Go and look, Dr. Stiles. See what you have done to your offspring."_

Derek turned towards the call and looked uneasily over the jagged ground. He tensed as he carefully stepped through the tightly packed bodies, vomit forcing its way through his mouth at the putrid smell of rotten flesh barely clinging to bone. Clutching his stomach as he finished retching, he spared a shameful glance at the poor souls he had thrown up on. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to . ." Derek stuttered to quiet, his body threatening to reject again. The five bony people he had vomited on or around stared at the puddle, not giving him as much as a glance before frantically scooping it up and shoveling it into their mouths.

_Oh . . . good . . . gah . . _

His free hand flew to his mouth and he forced himself to look away. A shudder shook his spine as he cringed, both at the nauseating sound of them eating what he purged and at the thought that it was most likely the only form of sustenance they had in a long time. Thoroughly sickened, he tripped through the crowded ground as fast as he could.

The tiny cry from before called up among the ghastly moans and Derek dizzyingly headed towards it. His legs nearly gave out as he climbed over a small hill the cracked pavement had formed, his churning innards doing nothing to conserve his strength. Still suppressing his convulsing esophagus as best he could, he slowly drew his fingers from his mouth and gazed into a shallow valley upon reaching the top. His eyes instantly locked with a green pair which stared out at him from the crowd.

"Angie . . ." he whispered, his body clumsily driving him down the hill. They were, indeed, Angie's eyes but it was clear that the body which hosted them was not that of the nurse. This girl was small, no more than seven if even that, and in all but wretched health. He knelt beside her and carefully brushed her matted hair from her face. A startled shudder overtook him as she looked into his eyes, hers cracked with blood vessels, hurt and confusion.

"Daddy . . ." she choked, her voice scratched. "Why did you do this? Why?"

"What?" Derek drew back his hand as if she had burned him. The dirty and tangled bangs he had pushed back swung before her eyes again. Derek could not help but notice that the hair was a light brown color, a few shades lighter than his own. However, as he looked back into the face of the emaciated little girl, he saw that her tan complexion matched his precisely.

"No . . ." Derek stood and backed up from the girl as tears streaked her thin face. "This can't be . ."

"_Look down, Dr. Stiles."_

Derek hastily tore his gaze away from her, finding his scrubs as clean as the day he had first donned them. The wounds were healed as well, not as much as a single crimson splash on his skin or surgical gloves.

"_Not a drop of blood is upon you . . . yet, their tears, their pain, their suffering . . . all crafted by your hands . . . your __**Healing Touch**__."_

Shade plunged over him as a dark vortex churned his surroundings again. Looking up, he saw cold, concrete walls on all sides, thankfully blocking out the horrid cityscape. Yet the little girl remained, laying before him on an exam table. A single light shone over them, the shadows restless where it failed to spill. He saw a syringe in his hand filled with dark green serum. The girl's eyes widened, the only shine in them provided by the welling tears. "Please, Daddy . . . don't give me medicine!" she choked.

Derek tugged on his muscles, but the feeble pull did nothing to deter them. He reached for her arm, disinfecting the skin before taking the syringe cover off. "Daddy! Please! I want to die!" The words cut through his heart. "Please . . . it hurts . . . I don't wanna be sick anymore . . ."

"It's all right, sweetie." Derek looked up at the familiar voice across from him. The shadows cascaded off of Angie's form, washing away her vibrant color, as she stepped to the other side of the cot. A tint of grey coated her skin, green bruises blotching her face. "It's better to be alive and in pain, then dead and at peace." Her glassy eyes slowly lifted to meet those of Derek. "Isn't that right, Dr. Stiles?"

"Angie!" he gasped, only vaguely aware of his hand moving to inject the girl. Her sobs brought his attention back down, the girl's brittle ribcage shaking with each strained gasp. "Please . . . no!"

A horrified breath freed him from the image. Derek collapsed to his knees, the pain and blood from his self inflicted wounds almost comforting in contrast to the vision. He pressed a trembling hand to his face. The sweat that dotted his brow was all but frigid, chilled by the blood that drained from his cheeks.

"_Do you see, now?"_ Adam took another step towards him. _"Society has blinded itself, blinded you. You are seen as a Savior, but in reality, you are a Destroyer."_

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, trying to close out what he had seen. "No! You're wrong!"

"_Am I? You have seen for yourself what is to come if you continue this path. Your hands will only sew seeds of famine and suffering in your wake. True, you may go through your meaningless life never killing a single person, keeping yourself free of blood, but your hands will never truly be clean. The earth, and the people on it, will die, because of you."_

"This isn't the answer!" Derek yelled. "No one has to die like this! We can find another way!"

"_There is no other way, Dr. Stiles. You realize this. Part of you already beckons to be cleansed of humanity's filthy sins."_

"No! I've had enough of this!" He snarled and rose to his feet. "You will get out of here if I have to force you out!"

Derek rushed for him, unbridled rage coursing through the slim remains of his blood. His hands reached for Adam's neck, desperate to crush the dead man's trachea just as they had done to that of his dark twin. The cold stench of the long rotten flesh tickled his finger tips. His angered eyes widened in the split second just before his hands could grasp his neck.

The sensation rocketed from his fingers, blazing unbearable pain through his body. Tiny gushes erupted from his torn flesh as his body jerked, collapsing and flailing in the agony. The pain was quick to recede, leaving behind a mass of convulsing muscles and uneven breath.

"_Take up the guise of the Healer you have been given. Take it, and walk this earth as a true Savior. Be the planet's Reaper no more . ." _

"You're trying to_turn_ me into a Reaper!" Derek cringed as he attempted to sit up. "You . . . you're a sick son of . .!"

The dry, bony fingers of the dead man gripped his wrists snuggly. Derek's eyes grew wide as Adam descended upon him, the stale aura from his withered body enveloping him completely. He forced the young surgeon to look into his eyes.

"_You do not speak to me like that."_

The thin fingers moved to Derek's scalp, gingerly combing through his hair. He winced as he felt dark whispers wash the inside of his skull. _"The path you walk may be bloody, but it is the true way to salvation. The veil of modern medicine will be lifted."_

Derek's body twitched once again, not in pain, but as the savage thirst bubbled towards the surface. He gave a low chuckle as drool ran from the corners of his mouth. "Adam . . . you're a broken record." He was unable to tell if his words had perturbed him, but he continued as his chuckles grew. "You're always talking in circles. Blood shed this, salvation that . . . it's the same thing over and over again."

"_I will repeat it as many times as it is necessary and, should that not work . . ."_

The cold fingers tickled his skin as they stroked him, slowly moving towards the puncture in his chest. Derek's body arched as far as it could, a soundless gasp clenching his throat as Adam's fingers pushed into the wound. A small hiss of burning flesh sounded, but it was short lived as the tar caking Derek's wound accepted the dead hand. Derek felt the stale air around Adam begin to swell in his chest cavity as the brittle nails feebly clawed his heart. He tensed, desperate to guard the organ from being picked open.

"_It is too late, Stiles."_ Adam murmured. _"When you had allowed Didymus into your mind, you had allowed me in as well. You have accepted my Bliss."_

"Yet, here I am . . . still resisting you . . ." Derek grunted, a smirk appearing on his face. "What do you make of that?"

"_A minor setback."_

Something churned restlessly within him, reaching out to Adam's touch. He cringed horridly, clenching his body, trying to still the organs that squirmed for blood.

"_The powers within you are growing restless. You cannot hope to stand a chance against them." _

"Aren't you forgetting something, Adam?"

Though not as much as a flicker of a brow passed over Adam's cold face, Derek could sense he had perked his interest.

"You may have been the one to "bless" me, but in the end, these are my powers. My powers . . . to do what I want with . . ."

Adam was clearly not impressed. He continued to scratch away at the surgeon's last defense, showing only a slight quiver of surprise when another sizzle cut through the air. He pulled his hand away, seeing the rotted tips of his fingers get eaten away by the tar. The thick syrup sputtered from the wound and Derek pressed his hand upon it. Clawing his fingers into the skin that surrounded the puncture, he hiccupped another laugh, pushing the dark venom through his palms. The black tar he had struggled so much to suppress poured generously from his fingers, trickling to his wound and joining the pool in his chest cavity.

"I . . . won't let you get to me . . . you can't . . . if I can't feel . . ."

Pushing his hand further into his chest, Derek felt an immense chill spread and drizzling over his insides. The aches that were caused by his shivers agitating his wounds were soothed as his body grew numb. As he distantly felt his limbs flail from the cold, he had also felt Adam's presence lift from him in response to another hiss. He could vaguely sense the tar overflow from his stomach wound before his torso turned numb completely.

Derek let out a jagged sigh, the squirming blood lust muted with the rest of this body. His mind dulled as well, leaving only one thing on it as he titled his head back. "A . . . Angie."

Biting his lip, he heaved his right arm, hearing it limply smack the floor beside his head. He managed to roll over with tremendous effort, using the same method to toss and pull his limbs in a feeble crawl. He reached her eventually, unable to feel her soft hair beneath his finger tips. He was instead content to simply watch his hand jerkily try to comb through his hair, his eyes pulling themselves shut as a sigh slipped passed his trembling lips.

-----

Derek pried his eyes open, fighting to free his muscles from the icy, numb grip upon them. It took several blinks before his blurred vision finally began to clear. The blue tinted haze of his Healing Touch continued to swirl, doing nothing for his muddled head. Even through the dancing figments he managed to see Victor standing motionless by the operating table, where Mr. Kovar was still fighting for his life. With several feeble grunts, Derek managed to push himself to his feet and stumble towards the operating table.

Hushed mumbles continued to nibble at the back of his mind. He ignored them, thankfully finding them annoying at most, as he reached the table.

Lifting his scalpel, he clenched his hand to calm the shaking as he moved it towards the patient's heart. A spark of blood thirst twitched his tongue and he washed it away with a gulp, slowly moving to continue excising the infestation. His unsteady hand forced him to make quick, short cuts, darkness flinching his body with each flick of the knife.

To his relief, the incision was completed and he carefully removed the infected area. "Finally, it's . . . over . ." he sighed. He dropped the tissue into a waste tray and patched up the wound. Massaging the heart with a coating of antibacterial gel, he pulled his hand back and let out another sigh when no black tar dripped from his fingers.

He sutured the incision in relaxed movements, a welcome change to the frantic energy from before. With the incision disinfected and bandaged, he allowed himself one more sigh, all the tension from that day released in one breath. "Operation complete . . ."

Those final words came out as a dense mist from his frosted lungs. With it poured all the strength and will he had been tightly clawing to. His body as a whole whimpered for rest and he complied, embracing the fainting spell he had not the energy to fight anyway. Even though he knew it would be a rough landing as he crashed to the floor, he was at peace.

Finally, he could rest.

Finally. . . .

-----

A/N: Okay, time to update the score board.

As In The Beginning stated in the previous chapter, Derek deserved another point for making Adam lose his patience.

Thus –

Adam: 2 Derek: 3

So it would seem that Derek has won. Of course, not all prizes are desired ones.

And so we find ourselves here. The next chapter will be the last of this story.

Just thought I should leave a quick note that _Adam's Bliss_ is on hiatus. It's just not going the way I think it should so I'm going to take a break from it. As a result, updates may slow to a snail's pace (big surprise, ne?) but I'm not giving up on the story.

In other news, Pokémon Sapphire is the most addictive thing ever! E-V-E-R! Yeah, yeah, the game's four years old but I don't care! I still love it! (huggles copy of Pokémon Sapphire) Of course, now that I've update this thing, I can allow myself to play New Blood! The video game goodness doesn't stop!

On that note, I shall leave you with another _Kurai Pantsu Wasabi!_

The thin fingers moved to Derek's scalp, gingerly combing through his hair.

Derek: Are you gonna have sex with me?

Adam: Wha . .? Uh . . .er . . .no?

Angie: (wakes and sits up) Awww! I wanted to see some yaoi!

Derek: What?! But . . .eh . .gah . . . with _him_?!

Angie: LULZ! AdamxDerek teh hawt!

Adam and Derek: 0 o


	12. To the Victor Goes the Spoils

A/N: Here we are. The final chapter for _Paying the Price_. It's been quite a ride, hasn't it? Not much to say other than thank you, everyone, for your kind words and taking the time to review my story. It's kind of weird to end this, seeing as I've been working on it since March, but at the same time, I'm relieved. My hard work's paid off, and I hope you all enjoy this last installment.

Paying the Price

Chapter 12: To the Victor Goes the Spoils

Derek's eyes opened slowly. Through the grogginess that fogged his mind, he made out the sound of a heart monitor beeping gently off to his side. His glasses were gone, creating even more difficulty as he tried to figure out where he was. The brightness of the room was not helping matters either. He closed his eyes and reopened them slowly, allowing them to recover and adjust to the room. Though his vision was still blurry, it had cleared enough for him to determine the light was coming from a large window rather than the florescent lights just above him.

_. . .sunlight . . . what time is it?_

Derek lifted his head slightly and felt the weight of a warm blanket press against his chest. From his limited field of vision, he was able to make out the standard recovery room of Caduceus USA. He summoned his strength and shakily pushed himself into a sitting position. The blanket crumpled to his lap, revealing that his surgeon uniform had been replaced with a hospital gown. Derek was perplexed and grew even more so when he noticed the IV going to his right hand. A quick examination of himself revealed that the only injury was the cut on his right temple, which had been sutured and bandaged. He carefully poked at the bandage and did not as much as wince at the resulting pain. It obviously had some time to heal.

"Dude, you're awake! Finally!"

Derek turned towards the source of the voice and saw Tyler entering the room. "Tyler, what happened?" he asked feebly, surprised at how parched his voice sounded.

"You scared the _crap_ out of us, that's what happened." Derek blinked lightly in confusion as Tyler approached the bedside. "To be honest, we're not exactly sure what happened. As Victor explained, he was assisting you in surgery and one minute, the patient was about to die. Then the next, he was stabilized, sutured and you were lying unconscious on the floor, bleeding from your head." He continued. "You can imagine how relieved we were when it turned out to be just a small laceration."

"Didn't feel so small at the time . . ." Derek mumbled, gently brushing his fingers against the bandage.

"You did loose quite a bit of blood from it, though." Tyler said, acknowledging the wound. "Nothing life threatening, but we were worried. You were suffering from severe hypothermia and we weren't sure you were gonna make it through the first night."

"First night? How long have I been unconscious?"

"Five days." Tyler sighed. "We thought you were out for good. Thank God you got your strength back."

A soft groan drew their attention to a chair just a foot from the head of the bed. A startled blush warmed Derek as he looked to his left, finally noticing Angie stir awake from a restless slumber. Blinking sleepily, her eyes migrated to his, the groggy film over them disappearing the second they met.

"Der – Dr. Stiles!" She shot up.

"Angie . . ."

Locked in a surprised stare, the two could only blink wordlessly at one another. Tyler looked between the two before breaking into a sly grin. "I'll give you both a chance to catch up . . . in private." he murmured. He proceeded to remove himself from the room in a smooth retreat, thoroughly enjoying Derek's befuddled look and Angie's annoyed glare. "She was at your side the whole time, you know. You really oughta thank her." Tyler gave a short laugh at the resulting blush that stained both their cheeks. Satisfied with his handy work, he slipped into the hall.

Derek opened his mouth ever so slightly as he looked towards the nurse. "You . . . you were watching over me the whole time?" Angie hunched slightly, timidly brushing back a strand of her hair. "I was simply looking after a patient . . . that's all." Clearing her throat, she gave a sharp exhale and narrowed her eyes. She rose from her chair to approach him, pushing his bangs back as she felt his forehead. "A-are you all right? How are you feeling?"

"I'm a little woozy, but I feel okay."

Angie's hand did not lift from his brow after that statement. As she stared into his chocolate eyes with her green ones, Derek was certain that she was waiting for him to give even the tiniest wince of pain, ready to call on him for lying. She would be waiting for quite a while then. He really _did_ feel fine. Weak, but otherwise fine. However, he was starting to get a little nervous when her stare did not lift after several minutes of scrutiny. "Really, Angie, I'm all right." His attempt to reassure her failed as she continued to look at him, as though she had not heard him. "Angie? Is everything . . .?"

The sudden softness of her eyes cut him off and he did not have a chance to react before she moved forward, squeezing her arms around his shoulders. Derek remained still as she hugged him. Her soft hair pressed into his cheek, painting a scarlet bloom on his tickled skin. Suddenly, he felt her stiffen and rigidly pull herself away from him.

"I . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry." she stammered, dropping her head. Her bangs covered the top portion of her face, but could not cover her faint blush. "I'm just so relieved that you're awake. . ."

Derek smiled as he lightly scratched the back of his ear. "It's . . . it's okay Angie."

"What happened to you, Derek?" she whispered. "I knew something was wrong while I was watching the surgery. What happened?"

A soft ruffle emitted from the blanket as he clutched it. He swallowed quietly and diverted his eyes to the cityscape. "I . . . I don't remember . . ." he murmured. "I think I just pushed myself too hard . . ."

". . . because you weren't getting enough sleep." Angie finished, brushing her hair back as she lifted her head, sternness gripping her eyes. "I know you said you were having nightmares, but you need to take better care of yourself!" She snapped. "If you don't . . . you might . . . you almost . . ." she trailed off.

"Don't worry, Angie." he said softly. "I think . . . the nightmare's over." He breathed. " . . .it's over."

-----

Having been brought up to speed on Mr. Kovar's condition (who was stable and doing fine with all things considered) and examined by Dr. Clarks, Derek was ordered to an additional twenty four hours of bed rest before he could go home. Sidney had also given him the next two days off to fully recover his strength before returning to work. While the gesture was appreciated, it became all too apparent to Derek that it would take more than an impromptu weekend to fully recover from all he had seen.

He had felt okay when he first woke up, well enough to insist that Angie take a break, which she reluctantly agreed to despite her initial protests. However, once the haze from being asleep for several days had cleared, the ghastly horrors he had faced returned with a sinister vengeance, lapping at the edges of his mind. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as he did all he could to keep the terrifying visions at bay. The images continued to bleed into him in spite of his clenched body. He let out a strained whimper as his fingers twitched, feeling cold flesh against his hands and blood saturating them enough to ensure the chill did not numb them. Derek had to peel his eyes open to reassure himself that it was all in his mind. He saw his hands draped over his stomach, clean though gnarled and shaking.

He took in a ragged breath as he closed his eyes again, leaning against the pillow. None of it was real. It had all been in his head. Just a horrible living nightmare.

"Derek."

He snapped to attention and was surprised to see Dr. Hoffman standing beside him, having not heard the elderly man enter the room. "Are you all right?"

Derek balled his fists to conceal his shaking hands. "Y-yeah . . . I'm just a little . . ." The nervous bite on his lower lip cut him off. Hoffman's eyes were sharp regardless of his age and clearly had not missed a thing. His expression, on the other hand, softly framed his analytical gaze with patience. He took a seat in the empty chair beside the bed. "Talk to me, Derek. Don't feel that you need to go through this alone."

His lip was hit with a short spark of pain as his bite on it tensed. He had feigned having no memory of the gory and horrific events for a reason, but if there was one person in the hospital that could understand what he had gone through, it was Dr. Hoffman. Withdrawing his teeth and taking an uneasy breath, Derek licked his lips nervously. "Dr. Hoffman, when you said that your powers had taken advantage of you, did they keep . . . haunting you?"

A look of remorse pinched his face briefly as the tight grip on his hawkish eyes loosened. "Nearly every day of those last twenty years." he sighed. "It wasn't until I embraced the Healing Touch again that I was able to get it under control. I don't know exactly what you've been through, but I do know this." He paused, indicating for Derek to meet his gaze, which he did. "What you've seen or heard . . . it's going to be with you for the rest of your life, but it will only take control if you let it."

Derek slowly let his eyes fall to the white sheet that covered him. "I think I understand now, what you were warning me about back at Hope Hospital. I understand what it really means to accept a power like this."

"I'm sorry you had to go through this."

"No, it's okay." He gave an exhausted smile. "I don't regret any of the decisions I've made, even if I did end up having to pay for them one way or another. I . . . I have to keep going with it, no matter how frightening it is . . ."

"That's good to hear." The confident smirk that he had worn since taking charge of Caduceus returned. "You're strong. You'll be all right, no matter what comes your way." He glanced at the clock and rose from his seat upon taking note of the late hour. "I'll let you rest, but don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Dr. Hoffman."

He waited for the elder surgeon to leave before allowing the tremor he had been holding to shake his body. Dr. Hoffman may have the Healing Touch, but this was his battle . . . his powers. He did not want anyone getting hurt because of him. Besides, he knew what to do now.

Derek drank in a breath as he closed his eyes. He pushed back the churning of his insides, focusing on a single shape in his mind, amid the haunting whispers. He took up his mental brush and traced the star colorlessly at first. Even as the dark murmurs continued to swipe at the canvass, he continued gently pressing in an engraved path. He allowed flush of turquoise to follow the lines he had carved, feeling the ocean colored star's foam bubble soothingly in his head. He let out a sigh as the sea water muffled the devilish sounds. The soft blue light from the star washed over him, relaxing the tight clench on his body and gently lulling him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Well . . . he did have_ one_ interesting dream involving Scarlett Johansson.

-----

Derek was thankful that he and his former roommate had parted ways months ago. It was a tough transition dealing with the increased rent and moving into a new one bedroom apartment. He and Seth had never been particularly close, but it was also nice having a constant companion to play video games with or mooch food from if money was tight. Living alone could be lonely as well, scary sometimes – even for an adult male.

Now, though, Derek was glad for it. He did not want anyone to have to see him . . . like this . . .

Gasping for breath, he leaned against his kitchen counter. Twitches pulled on his sweat soaked face as he clutched his chest. He could feel a haunting hand grasp over his heart, squeezing it as a manic laugh rattled his whole body. Slowly falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead against the edge of the counter. A backdrop of sinister whispers fell over his mind as an agonizing thirst clutched his throat.

Releasing his free hand from the counter, Derek placed it over the one grasping his ribcage. He took a deep breath as he pressed both hands to his chest, the air leaving his parched tongue screeching in pain.

_F-focus . . . concentrate. . . _

A blue star slashed through his hazy mind and cast its glow over his entire apartment. Amid his twisting surroundings, he continued his deep breathing, drawing the icy touch from his fingers into his chest. It coated his sternum and drizzled down the rest of his ribs, casting off the ghastly hand from his heart. He continued pressing one hand to his chest as his other moved to his neck. The fierce dryness in his throat was relieved by the cold touch.

Derek grimaced, his brow furrowing before releasing the Healing Touch, the fog in his mind evaporating with it. He pitched forward, just barely managing to catch himself. His arms shook violently as he stared at the tiled floor, his worn body not giving a single hint before his stomach rebelled. The splash of his vomit resounded through the apartment as his gut all but turned itself inside out.

The retching seemed to go one forever and he was only aware that it had ended when his body was overrun by dizziness and exhaustion. Derek's attempts to get to his feet left him stumbling backwards to collapse painfully against the floor. He groaned as he tried to move his limbs, feeling the strength sap from them with each flicker of muscle. Another moan escaped him as he slowly passed out, finding the oncoming darkness impossible to escape.

-----

The crisp autumn air of the park was refreshing. An aged scent from the elderly leaves and trees hung over his head, as did the carefree sounds from the other park goers. Derek's long coat billowed around his ankles in the midst of his swift walk. It was a feeble attempt to outrun the lingering shadows. This he knew, but the moment he had regained consciousness on the kitchen floor that morning, the only thing he wanted to do was get out. So having cleaned up the vomit and gotten dressed, he did just that, knowing that the serene atmosphere of the park had always calmed him down in the past. Yet, as sure as the luck running with him had been, it had picked the worst possible day to fail him.

"This can't really be happening." he murmured under his breath. "I . . . I beat him . . . I . . ."

"_It is too late, Stiles. When you had allowed Didymus into your mind, you had allowed me in as well. You have accepted my Bliss."_

"No!" Derek clutched his forehead and keeled forward. His chest heaved as he gulped for breath, his whole body trembling violently. "This . . . isn't . . ."

"Are you all right, young man?"

"Huh?" He looked up at the elderly woman that addressed him, seeing from the corner of his vision that he had attracted more than a little attention from the other park patrons. "I . . . I'm fine . . ." he breathed through a forced grin. "I just . . . need to sit down."

He quickly located a bench, doing all he could to stop his shivers as he made his way to it. He scratched gently at his chest and held back a groan as he sat down. "It . . . it's okay." he whispered to himself. "I'm just a little sick after everything that's happened. Dr. Hoffman said this would happen . . . it's going to take some time to get over this. Everything'll be okay." Though the words sounded hollow, they had at least kept him from hyperventilating. It was difficult to ignore the irate flickers inside his body . . . no, that was just his stomach. He had skipped breakfast after all. He was just hungry . . . nothing more . . .

Derek closed his eyes as he continued to stroke his chest. "It's fine . . ." he sighed.

The tender grip he had over his shirt quickly turned into a tight clutch. His eyes shot open, his face paling as the loud cry of a bird filled the air. _No . . . it wasn't . . . it can't be!_ His chest stung as he violently clawed into it. He felt a set of beady eyes stab into him, forcing jagged breath through his trembling lips.

"Mommy! What's that?"

"That's a crow, dear."

His heart took an icy plunge. Slowly he turned, his eyes drawn up to a pair of blood red orbs. The late morning sun gleamed off the bird's sinister black feathers.

"It's so strange to see one all by itself, and in the park of all places."

It flapped its wings as it drew another caw from its throat. The sound prompted a ripple of psychotic chuckling to rise in Derek's mind while its eyes continued to stare right into him, tightening its grip on his heart.

"What could it possibly want out here?"

**-----**

**End**

Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I have a feeling a lot of people are going to hate me for this ending, but I hope you enjoyed the story as a whole. Please review.


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